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mirror
richie hofmann
you'd expect a certain view from such a mirror --
clearer
than one that hangs in the entry and decays.
i gaze
past my reflection toward other things:
bat wings,
burnt gold upon blue, which decorate the wall
and all
those objects collected from travels, now seen
between
its great, gold frame, diminished with age:
a stage
where, still, the supernatural 1 de ballet
displays
its masquerade in the reflected light.
at night,
i thought i'd see the faces of the dead.
instead,
the faces of the ghosted silver sea
saw me.
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