Here is a poem.
Mirrors are tricky things.
Sometimes I stand in front of mine
and think that I am handsome.
If I am looking at the mirror image
of myself, is this reverse psychology,
or some form of?
Sometimes I find it hard to see the
reflections for the glass itself,
covered in minuscule white specks
How is it we can see round corners
in mirrors, to the parts it should
not be able to reach?
I understand that light can turn
and bounce but this seems
to be light as an actual fluid,
bright liquid tachyons
flooding over walls of perception.
Mirrors allow us to see rare moments
when we are not looking.
Everything seems much more interesting
when our backs are turned.