one mirror broke
and cannot be forgotten

another zigzags its crystal edges
into untouchable land

still another holds us in the simple wooden frame
of the mirror that my great-grandparents bought
in a country fair one summer
two centuries ago, on St. Ilya’s Day
as people have done to this day

and other mirrors still and other reflections
time beyond time
wherein I look - and it’s not my eyes
but your eyes that look back