She sees. She sees. What does she see?
Searching, sad eyes? Defeated eyes?
I think she sees herself thinking.
It doesn’t have a property
Under lashes of dumb or wise.
It’s not a nothing nor a thing.
Two strings of pearls, two lines of thought
Only move when she concentrates,
Seeking for what cannot be sought,
What her mind only generates.
Before her reflection, her face
Is as thin as her bodice lace.
She turns away with no answer,
Twirls her body like a dancer.
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