The Truth

Peter Engen

when the mirror was young
and the skin around my eyes was taut
I figured most things that stood to be true
had written themselves into the teeth of time
like a tombstone
a tablet carried under the arm of Moses
statues carved into white marble
staring forever at museum walls

truth used to have a shape
it had edges I could run my hands along
time was something I thought I could lean against
when the skin around my eyes was taut
and the mirror wasn't shy

now I know
time and truth are only a taste of snow
falling on the warm face of this small life
melting into the lips of now

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