irony of mirrors

Foreshadowing: green, I gleaned once,
from a series of graphs,
is the color most absorbed by a mirror.
It is more accurate, then, to call a mirror green than the silver my gullible eye insists.

A drop of blood trembled down through the steam to the porcelain and
ptt
like the snuff of a tiny candle.
You and steam both settle continuously:
It onto the hard surfaces of this bathroom,
you into the razor- nicked mediocrity
of not seeing yourself.

I am misled by myself singing.
In this lonely room, before a sheathed mirror, murmurs swell to screech,
through the steam, seem a barbaric yawp.
I cannot see the smallness of my mouth.
I cannot hear how puny my whispers.