a death closer.
Me is who dies every day to become me—
they call it living.
Me is the one who comes alive
when
they say I'm dead.
The mirror is a silver throat
that cannot scream.
It waits for the blind man’s shadow
to spill across its face,
hungry for a shape it cannot hold.
To the glass, the man is a ghost
who refuses to haunt.
A mirror tells a blind man nothing,
because the mirror is the one
who is truly empty.