Two bedrooms,
two closets, and
separate entrances on
the same whitewashed house—
and they dare not cross—not
look!—at the glass
split through the roof;
if they did, would they know
it was not a mirror?
Would they draw close,
press a hand to the shield,
staring in wonder at
the home they appealed?
Would they hear the whisper’s
vibration, as the other
longed on: you have earned
new wrinkles
I regret to have missed
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