An old poem

Your face is neither infinite nor ephemeral.

You can never see your own face,

only a reflection, not the face itself.

So you sigh in front of mirrors

and cloud the surface.

It’s better to keep your breath cold.

Hold it, like a diver does in the ocean.

One slight movement, the mirror-image goes.

Don’t be dead or asleep or awake.

Don’t be anything.

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