Friday, 6 March 2020


The whole room reflected in the outside, with me looking in
surroundings superimposed and overlaid, in and out

I saw a version of me, just shadows and highlights
Looking back asking the same question

The glass a double painting, two silent songs sung over each other,
one of the trees and the passing day,
the other of me inside this box, broken by the reflection of the open sky

Another looked from outside, seeing himself in my room, unseen by me
And a bird swooped overhead, over his head, and to him over mine, and his as well
Then a bus, heedlessly, drove straight through me,
but which was the ghost, the man in the world of reflections, or the bus reflected there

Houselights in the trees, a ceiling of sky, and me looking for answers
How did I get there, what happened on the way ?

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