iame

some lonesome evenings
(ain't that lonesome)
under the vertical horizon
over the sharp silhouettes
I stand
I stare
(ain't that lonesome)
I stay
I merge

from the other side
I assume (correctly)
which one's mine
which is me
which are I

iame
just me
( some lone ain't lonesome)
not anymore

perhaps
the looking glass
was indeed
always towards
A