I am the mirror thief Aug 22, 2011
Stacks of small square mirrors.
Large ones leaning against the wall like canvases.
Bits of glass on the floor. Shards in the corners of the room.
Silver leaf wafting about with the dust motes.
You have a mirror under one arm, and a book in the other hand.
You read, "I hoarded money, I squandered money,
I acquired a taste for rich food,
I learned to stimulate my senses."
The mirror reflects my shoes and the emptiness of the floor.
"I had to spend many years like that in order to lose my intelligence,
to lose the power to think, to forget about the unity of things."
The open book is slipping from your carefully splayed fingers.
You shift your weight and drop the mirror and run.
I throw the book and the shards into the furnace to remake the mirror.
Who steals a mirror and reads from a book
in an age when mirrors shine at all hours?
I should have said, "Take it. It will see more out there
than in here."
I am the mirror thief