Chrome Reflection

Man on the chrome reflection;
tell me where he lives,
In divinely strange gardens,
or among robbers and thieves?

Does his skin touch the breeze?
Does the breeze touch his skin?
Or is it boxes with colourful
boxes that cages him?

Does he know how warm
the ordinary cold can get?
Does he see the unlike eyes
of that one stray cat?

Does he live his years
or just thinks he has?
Tell him to pick the scattered life,
of which he'll only have less.