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The Mirror

Donald Illich

Calling yourself to the mirror, your opposite
refuses to climb out of the glass, live with you

on an earth that isn't his own creation. You feel
that he owes you for making his image,

but then you think about realities, how little you know
about the mysteries, streets you cross in the dark

with signs removed by the gods. You might be
the weaker world, the one reflecting his universe.

You might be tethered to his skin, like a cart
dragged around by a horse that wants to leave it

behind on the road, its passengers not understanding
where their lives have ended up. Thinking about this

only upsets you, makes you fall out of love with life.
Instead, you will need to see if you can break

into his realm, throwing yourself against his pane.
If it breaks you will discover there are some

places you cannot go, Do Not Enter stamped across
their light, a laser nailing the reflection

to a surface you can't penetrate. You will say
you meant to be defeated, for this existence

to be the only one you breathed with, for your turn
to wave goodbye, to never be seen by anyone again.

Donald Illich

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