The Mirror recollects what is forgotten,
remembers words I've lost in sowing,
shaped in charms to mark the dedications,
leaving me as nothing but,
a spinner.

The Mirror finds what possessions I've kept,
to infer the things I fear the most,
illogical worries of negative dreams,
thrown away so they may seem,
in the corner of my eye,
following.

The Mirror holds a certain configuration,
lifting figures I hold so dearly,
illuminates things that haunt beneath me,
accepting that the mind is merely,
a distortion.

The Mirror sees what I choose not to,
a pathetic isolation,
in unending sworded dance,
a husk made real by absurd imperative,

A simple reflection.