For Icarus / The Last Mirror

by Mark Young

Another mirror has broken. There is this line of them, fallen from wall or wardrobe door or cabinet. Sometimes we watch them watching as they drop; most times they are untenanted. Perhaps they age more quickly than we do & then explode, exposed to too much vanity, imposed too much upon. Now there is only one left in the house. Propped in a corner of the bedroom it shows my legs & the bottom of my wings; & the sea beneath - an opaque blue that sucks up the light so that I cannot see myself in it nor the sun reflected.