In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
Lord Byron
in truth, we laugh internally --corn popping, water boiling, lava rising --
our outside is composed of reflections upon reflections
a great pond underneath white clouds, underneath the atmosphere,
underneath an always night sky, in a distant galaxy,
what we see we compose, edit and repeat
life imitates art, imitates life, until every so often
a small discreet reflection, misfires, breaks the fourth wall,
and we discover anew what to reflect, to hold close, internally.
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