The Fused Soul of Reflection

It is no smooth border where the world flows by,
but a blind heart that absorbs all sight.
Every profile, every scale time sweeps nigh,
within the glass merges, an unexpected light.

It holds its own gravity, a quiet depth,
this image that has neither flesh nor name.
The more it seems etched, the richer the breath,
of the true object that generates and claims.

And perhaps there is where form becomes eternal,
in its reverse side that knows no start or cease,
a dense substance, almost fraternal,
captured beyond genuine crease.