In the sideview mirror of my car

through the morning fog I saw a human skull

that had to be my face, where the headlights

of the car behind me should have been,

or a morning star. I did not think

to step on the gas and race away from the skull

I knew it wasn’t behind me. Still it had me by the throat.

I can tell a raven from a crow,

a female evergreen from a male,

but I can’t tell visionary bone from ghost.

I’m used to my eyes fibbing to me,

5s are sometimes 8s, 2s, 3s.

I know the Chinese character for the word “nature”

is a nose that stands for breathing — life.

I need to see an ancient nose in the mirror.