He prefers to see himself in the darkness
of another figure the painter
the thinker the far-off the strange one
a beggar with the gestures
of a crowd. I render his eyes
by looking at them and his eyes
depict me follow me across
all of a detailed room.
The thoughts that I set down set me down
wrest from me the wish to be someone else.
I write about myself and about myself
alone while we see ourselves wander
apart in diverging figures.
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