#4133 poetry*

photo: Taverna, Mykonos, I love the old mirrors that distort reality

The blurry mirror

of silvered glass, a gleam

not quite me,not quite another

like  a ripple stolen from the midst of a thought

the light blurs me,like the fog over the sea

below the unconscious depths stir,

the ancient shadows rise,

then fracture into thousands of me,

breaking upon the shores.

*first put on line in 2025, edited in 2026

Une réflexion sur « #4133 poetry* »

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