The glass threw wide it arms every morning and giggled excitement, come see,
and each evening breathed deep the vision of mountain, stream, and light rays skewed,
prism and pomp with an invitation for my soul to drink and eat and be filled.
This same glass now fired with heat so intense
it woke, shuddered hot, drew its breath inside before a shake that burst pieces first upward
fell to the ground in motion slow and powered with other-worldly disdain
not finished it darkened and writhed until melted it died.
Then this glass of mine not afraid to step into light, on stage, curtains opened
to reveal its struggle and growth now art defined, a new reality,
bidden to be not an expository of things outside once loved but
of deep beauty
only and always to be seen.