Channeling René Magritte

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A man stands where the ground runs out like time,
his shadow folded into a sealed envelope.
Above, laughter spills like glass beads across a table
that refuses gravity, as pain inflicted disappears off the edge into silence.

A tree rehearses the sky inside a frame,
while the city waits below, perfectly convinced of nothing. Nothing is the hardest thing to prove.

Nothing moves—
yet everything has already arrived
somewhere else, but the man now stands alone, looking into the distance as his mind draws a blank in the reflection of the mirror.