So tell me:is this art imitating life,
or life imitating art?
Which came first,
the painting of the sheep
on the side of the shed,
(say that three times fast!)
or the sheep --
or did she somehow mold herself
in the image she sees
in what she thought was a mirror?
I knew my own tendency
to be a mirror.
But could it also be true
that I use others as a mirror,
assuming their truth is my own?
Time to get grounded;
to sink into the deep green grass that feeds me,
to breathe in its fresh sweet smell
and decide: is this really what I choose to eat?
* * *
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