Excerpt from Plato’s Closet:
Nothing ever really breaks down. The surfaceless glint off
anything keeps dying. I turned to look, but it was gone.
I put my hands together, but there was no sound.
I wanted to see myself between two mirrors
duplicated to infinity, but my head was always
in the way, and like you, I look with my head.
What kills you does not then die. what shuns you
affirms its undying devotion to you. were you left
indefinitely to persist, it would counterfeit an analog
that could not have been.