The mirror states its own flat case,
recalls when you’re not looking
all the looking it contains,
the blank mind it conjugates,
the eye it’s proxy for.
You wear the empty skin it
puts you in, what you think others think,
the reused canvas, the leftover
little thing you let it make of you.
Even in your dreams it waits for you,
invites you over for photographs
of its vacations and events,
the ones you thought were yours.