The uncertain face
in the mirror is mine. I
turn off the lights, leave.
Left to itself, that
mirror may show the para-
dox of the divine
as it passes through.
The empty-fullness. But not
Its long patient glance.
Glosses on texts by William Desmond
The uncertain face
in the mirror is mine. I
turn off the lights, leave.
Left to itself, that
mirror may show the para-
dox of the divine
as it passes through.
The empty-fullness. But not
Its long patient glance.