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Is that me there
in the reflections
on glass-like waves,
in mirrored surfaces
below slate skies?
Is that the me
I used to be
before the years
ran through my hands
like liquid fire
burning my fingers
with reminders
of the past
I chose to ignore?
She stares back at me
with eyes pinned
on an ancient horizon
made from tin and memory
and I can’t look away
from her creased face,
from her haunted eyes
that scream
with the silence
created from the past.

3 thoughts on “Reflections

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