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Blind man

Whose face do I see
when I look in the mirror?
What elder lurks in the glass
with silent weary wrath?
Slow in the dark, I explore with my hand
the invisible face. A gleam
reaches me. I just make out your hair
ashy or golden.
I quote I've only lost
the vain superfice of things.
Milton's counsel and valiant,
but I think of letters and roses.
I think if I could see myself
this afternoon I would know myself.