Empty your pockets and turn-out your souls, find it within yourselves to give away those forgotten possessions in the back of your closet, bagging memories that were mere cobwebs to the mind. Broken mirrors so easily divide to be shared when shattered on the ground of unrequited love. Stare down at your decrepit reflection, watch your hand touch your cheek and even as you feel it there, whole and one, the mirror on the floor says otherwise, and the broken mess that you are stares up at you from your accident, your mistake, your clumsiness. Hurry, sweep away the broken pieces and hide it under the rug in the bathroom. Open the doors to the things that don't fit- shirts that no longer smell like home, jeans that no longer fade like summer, shoes that no longer wear like slippers. Will was a good boy, as long as there were bags to stow the badness. Good Will, won't you give your soul away? Give your heart to the needy, your mind to the hungry, your soul for the homeless? Or does the mirror reflect the right when, for you, it mirrors nothing? Carrie