A Stork in His Leisure

I wrote this in college, but am reviving it due to my current extreme interest in the literature of mirrors.  (See my fiction below.)

    Darkly a star stork
in his leisure, infantless
  and therefore out of work

    broke through my mirror,
flew wings beating in my face.
  Feathered, flustered, unsure,

    injured with each flap,
and remembering how Zeus
  came as a bird to rape

    Leda, I took a broom
and beat him back through the glass.
  I was sorry for for him.

    Now I'm sorrier
for myself, seeing him gaze
  from my broken mirror.