A Tuesday in Late Summer

I saw him in the mirror. He was hazy at first and just visible around the edges. Superstition was in the pupils. Lines of veins leading to the eyes were growing into red spider webs. Who is that? Sometimes when I wake up it takes a minute to register who I find in front of me staring back. the wavy hair and patchy beard are things you forget every night in your sleep and only remember that they exist in that first glimpse. I gave him a name. Fear suits all practical purposes. Fear he shall be called. Bring out the holy water. Where is the priest? Anoint him with oil and we shall name him Fear. But enough of the capitals, no he is fear of triviality. Give him a smaller name; fear. He isn't logical, he isn't even real, but I can see him there staring back at me. Hello fear, hello he answers back. I guess I must have left the door unlocked last night. Here to stay a while? I ask. Maybe, maybe not. Hmm.