Not every mirror inspires
one to raise her arms above
in a convinced, meticulous rush,
as though the arms were wings
opening all the rest to sight.
And not every woman can be
stirred that far—
before such a strange space,
where she rests face to face
so differently with her own self,
and in such a candid, effortless act,
refined to an apogee of art,
she now could almost perform asleep—
were it not for those eyes,
exchanged with her own shade.
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