Here is the remnant of the broken mirror; try to move it and it becomes smoke.
I take it into another room, it refuses to reflect my thoughts and cries like a baby.
My temporal imaginary mind would not exist without it – it would become insane.
Desperately I stare into it – a starving orphan putting a hand into a barrel of water.
Anywhere else and it becomes mad, red embers glowing in the darkness of a cell.
After seven years do I get it back whole; my heart as young as a baby bird?