It’s this
thing. Perhaps you ‘ve heard of it.
It’s—the space between 
mirrors facing each other

the endless, crystalline gateway
not meant for travelling,
where cold voices speak
of disenchantment.

What do they say?
what did I say?

A length of fabric
drops between us
and pools by our feet.

Our breaths echoing
these cement walls—
Are you still facing me?
Which side are you on?

Do you think that maybe
I am no longer who I was yesterday?

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