Glass is Only Another Form of Sand
Prairie Resch '21
Glass is Only Another Form of Sand
Plants on my windowsill.
Bird which hit my window this morning
(and I wonder if it was my fault
for putting plants away behind panes of glass).
But curtains had hung shut, then,
(blank expanses
and not mirrors reflecting sky and space).
No little body when I looked
(felled by something it couldn’t see,
ivy beneath my window holding no bird).
Birdsong, and songs of early insects
(and life slowly unfurled
outside).
Mid-morning sun
(which is strange to me;
I have become too familiar with winter’s darkness).
Tableau vivant
(so it appears from inside, at least,
every place filled, every role perfected).
Plants, on my windowsill
(I suppose they will remain, then
still behind their panes of glass).
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