There’s a Moment When the Message Looks the Same to Itself from Itself as from You to You

Translated, rotated, and rescaled
Without distortion, the tradition
Of pure conformal invariance

Persists throughout the known universe.
Mirrors have something to do with time
But more to do with phase transitions,

Those more or less abrupt distinctions
That the mind’s most likely to perceive
As before and after. And as with

Ice and water, iron and magnets,
The crystal and the murky border,
We have to wonder if, too, with us,

If not with you. In your own mirrors,
You’re askew. The distortion reveals
The you as you and not an instance

Of perfect, fearful symmetry, but
What of your words as we’re translated
Back to us from all the words you use?

There’s a critical moment closing
In the curling storms of languages
When terms will influence each other

From greater differences, names align
In the remotest swirls of discourse,
And a certain elegance break through,

Just before the entire system shifts,
Becomes something new, and our murmurs
Carve routes to us through the stone of you.