A Jew's profile in the subway is perhaps that of Christ; the hands giving us our change at a ticket window perhaps repeat those that one day were nailed to the cross by some soldiers.
Perhaps some feature of that crucified countenance lurks in every mirror; perhaps the face died, was obliterated, so that God could be all of us.
Who knows whether tonight we shall not see it in the labyrinths of our dreams and not even know it tomorrow.
from "Paradiso, XXXI, 108"
in Labyrinths
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