Is is one, is it two, is it three?
All these words written
To whom do they mean?

Is this not a mirror where we see?
Who then is looking back at me?
Perhaps the mirror is shattering

For reality seems unflattering
When all I recall is they were never meant to be – for me

Per chance they were all mine?
We cannot erase time
But it’s hard to patch – this hole- where I bleed

© Delia Ross. 2019

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