I confused my own reflection with that of another man’s.

He was taller than me.
His hair, full, like a youth’s,
Yet salted from the days of his age.
He wore glasses and looked the part of a scholar.

His ****** hair hid what appeared to be
A lively face, but with this in mind,
He was tired, panting for air.

We both walked the same pace,
Toward a dark and reflective glass.
I was him for a brief moment.

And what about him?
Did he confuse my own for his?
Did he know me?

For, in that moment when I turned from the glass, our eyes met.
He had a square eye that matched mine.
I felt his burden, and his weighted years,
And there in the dark glass, I knew a man,
My breath was not my own.
My beat was not my own.

Once we passed each other,
I gave a quick turn,
And saw him looking deeply into that dark glass —
Reflecting