The History of the Visible Universe as Seen from a Black Hole

If our photon rings contain
An infinite collection
Of copies of the cosmos

In conformal symmetry,
Then all those rings could be where
Our holographic dual

Lives, and wouldn’t that be sweet?
Somewhere in those rings would be
One brilliant infinity

Each to match each inner dark,
As when the serious child
With the wild head of ink hair

Sat in the barbershop chair
One morning, decades ago,
Astonished by reflection,

A sense of a ritual
More hermetic than holy
Dizzy within that wild head

Seeing itself spin away
In mirrored shining copies
Forever, one ghost’s first glimpse

Of what’s wrong with this picture,
One infinitely thin slice
Of the whole of history.