In four ragged block prints I thought I'd met the glimmer in your eye. But the light half-reflects reality; perception's a fickle guide. You didn't want to fall.
See the mirror and its sides: one sheer, one unarmed against the harsh light. This is all that's true or right: you didn't want to fall.
So I hid for days in my canebreak, and the false moves my heart had made, they didn't seem so bad. But two steps beyond the line of the cane made me realize my mistake: you didn't feel and you never had.