Framed in Glass

Each pallid pane held the past. All

jagged edged in glaring light, I

did not look away. My courage

caulked the splintered leaks of light that

passed my way that day. It followed

me. In windows, doors and polished

floors, my image was diffused. All the waste,

wrinkled grace; chaos born of youths’ haste.

Yet, with tired eyes healing,

I am perched on a branch.

In this shiny moment, I can

see or looked away. The breath of

those I fractured fog the figure

in the frame. With brush and blood, I’ll

paint again. This time I’ll sign my name.