The disembodied

I missed the morning sunlight trying to decide if I really knew that “here is one hand,”
and now, as raindrops trickle down on my reflection in the window, all I can think about
is the disembodied lady and how much she differed from health faddists and the ones
on a megavitamin craze who were heavily overdosing on pyridoxine in the eighties.
And then a question struck me: was that reflection actually all we were granted?

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