Mirror, Mirror facing me
as shades walk
through your glass.

How is it-
to have nothing
of your own-
to change before
the comprehension of the human eye,
to be faceless, formless
without ever wading?

They flock to you-
those so vain,
you must assure their fading identity,
those whose eyes can do nothing more  
than glare at that image you paint for them-
and none you deny.

For you are all
and yet you are none-
for you are as fading as Apollo's horizon sun.