Poetry is a wardrobe
overflowing with truth and lies
in every swirling color, texture, size.
And locked away there 
you try on 
other people’s eyes, and sometimes, if you’re lucky
their souls.

Where mirrored back to you is a strange reflection,
Illuminating shadows
you didn’t see before.

Some things slip on like a silken glove, but
even the pieces that don’t fit at all 
show you something beautiful or tragic or profane
about someone – a stranger or a friend, 
that often you will find is

you.