Closet Doors

Double mirrored doors.
I haven’t been
in front of one
since I sat in front of yours,
watching your fingers
touch my skin,
your eyes gaze
at my face.
I remember taking your picture
as you strummed your guitar,
the flash blotting me out
in white reflection
from the mirrored doors.
Now I sit in front of
different mirrors
but familiar eyes
look back
from a face a decade older.
I’m here alone
and your guitar-hands
are a million miles away
from the flash in this mirror.
I’m still a beam of white
but your face,
serious and focused,
fades behind the flash,
the white noise
where I vanish
and you never were.
I’m next to someone
who is not you,
sleeping in front of
different mirrored doors,
watching my life move by,
dreaming of another path
that disappears
behind the camera flash
of a mirrored closet door.

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