Here in the mirror room,   
Full of hands and distant voices,   
We cower together on the couch,   
And over our crystal glasses   
We sip each other's little silver flavored smiles,   

And in the bubbles of your eyes   
I suddenly see forty years.   

We have wandered from our nice agreements   
To the panic question-   
And will there be tomorrow after all,   
In which to drone of all the things we've never done,   
In which to swallow back all that gall   
Faced with the awful possibility of God!