He views himself in the mirror
Consider morning,
when light
splits curtained darkness,
when fingers tremble
to re-bait the hooked question
and cast once more
into untroubled mirrors.
Now – if ever –
that great fish should rise,
magnificent, speckled, cold;
the ring of gold
hoarded in his belly ...
Only a face,
sad,
In clear depths of glass
exiled.
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