Man Alone

It is yourself you

In a long rage,

Scanning through light and

Mirrors, the page,

Where should reflected

Those eyes and that thick hair,

That passionate look, that laughter.

You should

Within the book, or doubled,

Freed, in the silvered glass;

Into all other

Yourself should pass.

The glass does not dissolve;

Like walls the mirrors stand;

The printed page gives

Words by another hand.

And your infatuate

Meets not itself below;

Strangers lie in your

As I lie now.