Charles Simic

Small store, is it only cobwebs
And shadows you sell?
I saw my pale reflection
In the dimmed-out interior

Like a gentleman burglar
Unable to make up his mind
Between a pearl necklace
And an antique clock on the wall.

Raindrops blurred the rest,
Trickling down the glass
I pressed my forehead against
As if it was splitting with pain.


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