Glass
I am the glass:
The one that sits, half-full of where the water isn't;
That stares, so like
the one you peer through, finding continents or stars,
except it holds a larger, undiscovered thing;
That fits, a comfortable mask,
to sharpen and confine your world;
The one that frames the land
or fills it full of painted saints;
The one that bends the delicate
closer, closer, 'til it splits and burns.
No matter how you use me -
empty, fragile, painted, bent -
Be still, be patient.
Soon the light will shine through me,
until there is
No glass.
January 12, 1999
Revised with Don's help January 16, 1999