It is in the stormy, wind-tossed, wild
surface of the water
that I see my true reflection,
a hundred times over
each framed in its concaved capsule
of blurred dreams and mystical musings
each an angle or facet of what
my face once was, or has become
til the storm passes, leaving nothing more
for me than one placid, lucid plane
of silence,
of beauty
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