glow of glass speaks from long necks of history,
wheezy snooper nudge, on her pedestal
against a tall glass menagerie–radiant light
filtered through, brilliance of oranges, blues,
teals, clear glass. murrini patterns of sky– she radiates
a sunrise? a voice– stephen rolfe powell’s? urges–
let color flow over you. and so i do– then
take a quarter turn. she burns deeper, now a sunset?
do i dare another turn? yes, now from sky-soar
to deep-sea swim, creatures glow, turn round,
melt into ocean-worlds. what will happen
at next turn? will the heavens open up in hues
of golden blues? my heart races—
this thorough-bred glass, organic once
in artists’ hands lives on her own. i step back.
my eyes follow her neck. into sand? into clouds?
search for life on other planets? or search souls?
i stop, still myself, sink in, colors flowing, now–
within.