Waiting to travel

Waiting to travel,
 I came upon a
 Versailles mirror.
 frame twisted,
 face smashed.
 Discarded and
 tossed in the
 Poteau landfill.

 A little attention,
 some re-assembly;
 a revision of love
 let everyone see...
 Solid iron, and strong!
 And a face so polished!
 Crystalline and honed -

arpeggio aura quivering
 like the strings
 of Schubert’s piano.

 No jag of glass,
 no broken shard
 drew trace or drop of blood.
 Not even a scratch.

 And no cry of pain
 did it cost me.
 I can not recall
 the last time
 that joy came
 so free.