Margin: Exploring Modern Magical Realism


When I stare, old photographs stare back. They follow me
until I leave. My own reflection watches me. If it isn't careful,
it might let me move on my own. It might allow me to touch the glass
in front of its face
                              it could let me get that close    just the glass
                        between my hand and its face.
But it won't. It only watches                            when it can

as if freedom is a mistake.               

l. k.   l e u
b u f f a l o ,   n e w   y o r k

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