People in the mirror are closer than they appear.

In the beginning there were two of them.

O.K. so boom: it all went down like this: there were EIGHT GIRLS, one BOY*, bottom of the emptied bleachers.

“She dies trapped, duties to plant and progeny fulfilled.”

“We wait for manifestation, the mythic memory / Of their appearance yielding a fervent hope.”

“At the precipice of the treeline, you are finally relieved, / Standing solitary, competition and complication stripped away.”

Oh, yeah. The music

 Tell me in person, if it even comes up. Tell me something real.