the Truth, a winding river

flowing through

a knotted, burning throat

its mouth no longer feeding

into bodies otherwise

the Truth is found in memories

in faded, glitching pictures

though it’s hard to tell

whose memories are whose

when river waters rise

the Truth is in the mirror

though the mirrored glass

distorts the lines

its images reversed and then

reversed again inside the eye

the Truth is found in silence

not in thoughts or explanations

but between the inhalations

and in passing

of the time