Reflections
by Anna Hurst
the surface asks me not to break it
because I cannot know
which is the surface
and which is real.
the face staring back at me ripples
when it looks like it should shatter,
but my face
plunges below.
by Anna Hurst
the surface asks me not to break it
because I cannot know
which is the surface
and which is real.
the face staring back at me ripples
when it looks like it should shatter,
but my face
plunges below.