But pull away from stasis
Towards that which can be learned
Through absence
And its ever-shimmering twin
Loss. Such griefs we contrive
To serve some wretched purpose
Of a higher way to look at things.
The mechanics of transcendence,
A memory of rarefied air
Plucked like private hair
With long, painful tweezers.
The way we appear
So unacceptable,
What we'd never see
Without some role reversal,
What some may call a mirror.