Mirrored Bricolage

Bricolaged
I stare in the mirror and realize it’s not the
I’s eye that stares back at me
it’s not the eye I have come to
real eye
on
that imparts what it perceives

It’s something or
someone
else
entirely

It’s in this moment that my vision shifts, where
The Observed
becomes
The Observer

The mirror I am standing in front of
washes over with fractals
Its reflective surface
a collection of immersive moments in time
plotted in space and

it is here
along the cylindrical corridors’ path
where I can be found
shedding
or gifting myself
in moments of

connection

love

and intimacy.

Imprinted, I carry these traces with me
I leave parts of myself on the table
tucked in bags
a bookmark between pages of a shared anthology,
an edition we both loved.

I am not hard to find.