The Mirror is a Coward (a poem)

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i call the mirror
“coward,” afraid
of your voice; that
heavy stone; heard
around a corner it
shatters.

and your pestle laugh?
how it pulverizes, grinds
my heart to sand.

i would write
you a letter if
i knew your
address

there is facebook or
text—
i know your
number but

words can choke
pen and key, same
as a throat

i drink the light
from your eyes;
it rises within
me like steam

i cannot touch it
i cannot hold it

the mirror is
a coward, hiding
from the thin ribbon
of your smile.

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