The mirror’s a mask

for who I think I am;

How long have I been gone?

Where did I go?

The man I see is worn

and fragile, skin dry,

wrinkled; eyes deep

with dark half-moons

floating below them

like shadows on water.

I am not who I am,

yet more than an echo.

the mirror’s a mask

for what I have become.

(September 5, 2019)

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