he presents himself as a lean object a thing to be adored
no harm intended we all caress mirrors
seeking a reflection of ourselves in others
we find no comfort there no understanding
the fault is in the truth that eludes us
stunned by the silver light we fail to see clearly
rely on affect try to feel our way navigating by touch
quickened by the shape of our immanence
we embrace the graven images we have become
he holds tight presses against the dampened radiance within
Poet13's Blog 
excellent spiral poem
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Thank you. Though I’m not sure what a spiral poem is. Would you care to elaborate?
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magic of mirrors, truth will out.
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Indeed, as long as we can look past the surface reflections that obscure it. Thank you!
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