Hit the mat, hit the gravel,
Fall on your face, get up
Again and again; you’re
Bleeding and torn, your
Hair falls around crooked
Shoulders, and you shake
As you stand there—where
Has the enemy gone? You
Look at your fists and only
See shards of glass—looking
Up, you meet your own eyes. 

Mirrors huddle all around,
Broken and crying blood,
But you could have sworn
That they were real people,
That your fist had connected
With a human jaw, and as
You watch, the mirrors repair
Themselves like a jagged
Smile; and you know that
its time to fight again.