The Hunt in the Mirror

I found the trail had circled back—

the dust was mine, the breath, the beat.

The stars I’d followed turned to track

my shadow down the mirrored street.

Each window caught my fleeting face,

each pane returned what I had sown.

The hunter’s pace, the hunter’s grace—

were echoes I had called my own.

I reached to grasp the ghost I’d chased,

the shimmer shaped like who I’d been.

The glass gave way, and I was faced

with every truth I’d worn as skin.

The self I sought was never gone,

just buried under borrowed hue.

I bowed before the breaking dawn,

and saw my soul look back anew.

No quarry fled, no prize was found—

just stillness burning bright and clear.

The hunt unmade its holy ground—

and silence crowned the heart sincere.

For what I seek, I am; I breathe.

The mirror speaks; I understand.

To chase the light is to believe

the flame was never in my hand.