Even as a handy sheet of paper
sometimes catches a genuine masterstroke,
so, often into themselves the mirrors
take the one blessed smile of girls who awoke
and tried out the morning, alone-
or in the attendant lights' glitter.
And where the breath of their real faces
there falls but a mere reflection, later.
What have eyes once seen in the blackening
slowly cooling upon the hearth?
Glimpses of life, forever lost.
Ah, who knows the losses of the earth?
Only one, who praises nevertheless,
can sing the heart borth into the Whole.
These poems follow a nonlinear path, kind of like my mind, introducing suggestions here and there, and impressions, but not having some sort of structure that necessarily makes much sense. Life is like that anyway. Logic is one thing, but real life is anything but logical.