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Mirror
by Ezra Cohen
In darkness it is easier
to imagine light
In light
it is the memory of light
that is darkness
There is the faucet, a silver gesture
There is the tile
endlessly crossing itself
on the path
to remaining the same
There is my self
talking to my former self
On the path
to remaining the same
there are no people to visit
Flowers blow lazily in light
that is solid as stone
On the path
to remaining the same
Vision is endless but repeating
Joy is antiquity and the hereafter
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