(After the satirical cartoon by Ad Reinhardt.)
I can’t see your face
through the bottom of a glass of wine.
It is as blurry as your words
your soul.
You change your shape amoeba-like
and your colors like a chameleon
never quite the same
never predictable, never true
to the person I knew when first we met.
It could be the glass, of course,
reshaping your memory in my mind
like a sideshow mirror
distorting the truth
or it could be the wine.
Whomever you really seem
I toast your health
from the bottom of my glass
wishing that I would know
who you really are.
