Mirror Stranger

The cracked mirror catches morning light,

fractures splay like lightning veins,

a face splits—no, breaks apart.

Eyes search but find unfamiliar shapes,

like a street I once walked,

now blurred and rearranged by fog.

I lean in, nose close to the glass,

the face nods, a stranger's nod,

then shifts, a twitch, hesitation,

a borrowed mask slipping.

Light fractures me back, jagged,

not mine, not quite.

And I stand here—

hands still pressed to glass,

waiting for the face

that once knew me.