Meeting, Presumably, the Son of a Man

Alone, in the desert
I met a Man. From the sand
he had forged, and now carried,
a mirror. Like a light
burden.

Blinding, the sun
flashed in its movements,
obscured any other
reflections.

He could have been
a mirage, of course.
“Who are you,” I said.
“I am that I am.”

“Do you know what you’ve said?”
said I. “Do you know what
you’ve presumed?”

“Do you know what you’ve asked?”
said he. “Do you know
what you’ve assumed?”