Carry me further down, to where our anger resides.
There, buried in the cold surface of the stones, are forgotten screams.
Vineyards and gardens, and spirits emerging from the earth.
Time dissolves into shadows; voices buried beneath the earth vibrate again.
In this silence, I learn: the world is indifferent, the sky is silent, the mirror shattered.
Now, I see a ghost in every mirror.
The silhouettes I see in the broken mirrors are not unfamiliar to me.
They are fragments torn from my body; an echo of both pasts.
They multiply with each glance, consuming me as they multiply.
As I become exhausted, I grow numb.
I look again: there is no mirror, nor is there a ghost that has become numb.
And I ask again: what do my mirrors intend for me, is it the ghost I see?
There, buried in the cold surface of the stones, are forgotten screams.
Vineyards and gardens, and spirits emerging from the earth.
Time dissolves into shadows; voices buried beneath the earth vibrate again.
In this silence, I learn: the world is indifferent, the sky is silent, the mirror shattered.
Now, I see a ghost in every mirror.
The silhouettes I see in the broken mirrors are not unfamiliar to me.
They are fragments torn from my body; an echo of both pasts.
They multiply with each glance, consuming me as they multiply.
As I become exhausted, I grow numb.
I look again: there is no mirror, nor is there a ghost that has become numb.
And I ask again: what do my mirrors intend for me, is it the ghost I see?