From cheech

 0

I asked Nicholas Christopher what he thought about Isadora, and he said, "A nightingale disappears into a mirror in a vacant lot deep with snow. The mirror reflects nothing: not the steep buildings on three sides, or the parked cars with iced windows, or the frozen clouds suspended from stars. In the distance, a lone dog barks. Another dog, even farther away, replies. And then another, very faint. They form the few audible links in a long chain stretching away to the windswept plains where lapis highways connect ruined cities, where the mirrors do not reflect, but only conceal, such things as this nightingale saw before streaking out of the mirror with every black feather turned white, never to sing again." I could see his points... but still a bit sad that poets never seem to mention boat-tailed grackles...