Emily, a Hoyle in a green dress, leaned 
In a hetero-inclusive manner  
Against a far wall,  
Perhaps not far enough, as  
She seemed distracted —  
Distracted, a word bringing pressure  
Into 4 fingers, my right hand  
Fidgeting with her necklace  
Which at that moment I coveted more than — sing it,are  
You trying to interfere ..  
& she was staring in the mirror — looking  
Not at me but past me, into a space  
— or a slot of a zonal precipice  
That might be filled by someone nice,  
A successful televangelist no doubt, yet  
To show there, fully, still on a gaseous journey...  
(journey, a roughshod term for predation & warfare  
Which could lead to fuller, calmer scenes thru the mirror..).  
This was years ago, according to Hoyle.