Ernest Hyde
My mind was a mirror
saw what he saw, he knew what he knew.
In youth my mind was like a mirror
of a fast race car,
that captures and disperses the features of the landscape now. Then in time
produced deep scratches on the mirror, including creeping
the outside world,
and I emerged my most secret.
E 'this is the nascta del'anima in pain, made up of a birth
gains and losses.
The mind sees the world as something separate
and soul makes one with herself.
A mirror scratched reflects no image -
and this is the silence of wisdom.
Edgar Lee Masters' Spoon River Anthology "
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