A blind man wanders through a palace of mirrors,
maybe it is an enormous room of funhouse mirrors
where light flashes and ricochets from mirror to mirror.
The blind man is singing one of the grand old songs,
it is a bittersweet scene, reflected both ways to infinity
in the tall mirrors facing each other with nothing
between them but a blind man singing.
The song is so familiar, it is almost as if you are there
between the lines, between the mirrors, singing the song
of yourself, blinking your eyes because you know the light
is all around you but you cannot see it, so instead you sing.
The creator of the palace hears you singing because that one
is you, wandering like a blind man from mirror to mirror,
blinking your eyes even though you are able to see.
And the light, that is your light, flashing and ricocheting
to infinity, the very place you are always emerging from,
an enormous room filled with echoes of the old songs
you like to sing to magnify the mirrored light.
You are that blind god standing before a funhouse mirror,
you hear a voice sounding from somewhere, it is singing
one of your favorite songs, don’t you remember yet,
don’t you remember it’s you?