On my best friend wedding party,
I was standing with my friends,
under a large gilt-framed mirror,
that tilted slightly forward,
over the fireplace.
I was drinking Old Monk mixing it with cold water,
I looked up into the mirror:
a woman in a green dress leaned
against the far wall.
Her right fingers 
fidgeted with her necklace,
staring into the mirror,
past me, into a space,
that might be filled by someone
yet to arrive.
Then, suddenly, my friends
said it was time to move on.
This was years ago.

I still recall that moment of looking up
and seeing the woman stare past me
into a place I could only imagine,
and each time it is with a pang,
as if just then I were stepping
from the depths of the mirror
into that room, breathless and eager,
only to discover too late
that she is not there. -- MS