Published January 2016
The mirror has made itself whole again. It is singing a song to those who have breathed like crystals into the wordless womb.
Your words transmute into temporal pianos, disintegrate like the atoms of a shapeless moon, and spread a collage of soundsymbols that soothe like shadows.
The mirror holds jagged bits of clock between its teeth. Time is an empty tomb.
You have made yourself whole again.
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