Wrinkled Glass

The time I looked in the mirror didn’t
see me what did I see not someone else
but somehow else the line of sight that bent
somehow around corners over edges

it stays with me in me ordinary 
not as before but changed ordinary
musical metamorphical transport
to places and ways I survey can’t map

ongoing cataclysmic challenges
as evolution shapes reshapes the living
rummages through the drawers of camouflage
mimicking, mistaking its mimicry

now what was that about the glass wrinkled
to make clear it can never show us true?