I

I look out the window and see
myself looking out,
the mountains blue in the rain, my profile
a cliff under the lamp’s
silver arch, and there’s
my forehead,
a landscape burned by the moon. 

II

Saturday’s wine tastes
of last year’s forest fires.
My footsteps go sideways,
I hit the hallway mirror and
run into myself on the
other side. He adjusts
the frame, exits the
hall. I evaporate
like smoke.

Luis Torres is an MFA poetry student at San Diego State University where he has been awarded the Sarah B. Marsh-Rebelo Scholarship for Poetry. He also serves as the Submissions Editor for Poetry International. He graduated cum laude from Emory University, where he studied Economics and Philosophy. His work has appeared in the Los Angeles Review.