Through the Glass

The fluttering in my heart—

Is it that of angels’ wings,
Or nerves and pressure and blood?
I swallow concoctions; I read a book;
I look to the world outside my window—
Outside my eyes—
Onto the heart of something
Not comprehensible (the dust of snow—
from angels’ flights?), for life and love evade
My understanding.
The past, the present—both rolled into one—
Whisper to my future. I hope.
I try for wings—to fly today;
The blood and flesh
Are grounding me.
The humanness that I am beseeches
Love, yet subtracts affection.
I shall know more at a later time.

But through the glass I see a spotted dog,
Tugging at a cord his mistress grasps;
His heart bursts forth to break away,
Yet he turns with joy to laugh—
To see her chasing faithfully behind—
To laugh with joy at their bond—
As their eyes mirror a holy thing.

23 February 2010