To know himself was to know the world. So Axl thought, and his central sin condoned: The reflected world was omnipotent mirror, And not importunate guest. So Axl surmised, And found himself amenable to a thought so wise-- A tuxedoed waltzer whirled, red carnation at-the-ready. Who else was welcome to this solo cotillion? With each yawn, Axl awoke to his own wedding day, Most blessed of days in a world that blessed him best. No undue strain arced across his crystal-ball brow, Things had worked out for him before, as now: Where Axl's hand shot out, blind, golden knobs appeared. For any emergency disguise, he grew sufficient beard. Axl lived and died in ornately mirrored rooms. No awkward prisms arched each mirror's edge. No stranger bird of paradise got in, panicked, And beat blue wings about his heart, or threw Confusing wings of angels in his face. He spun, at cordial intervals, the mottled globe In his room, and saw only his own pale head revolve. Thus was Axl in his castle, amid the central fix of facts. In a world that is mirror only, pool only, lambency only, To what whirligig apotheosis might spinning Axl jump? Fingertip to tip, he pressed against the giving surface Of all he knew and willed. Liquidly in to elbow He sank without a thought--now shoulder to shoulder Pressed, and, now, nearly cheek to cheek he sank.