and glass it was, the longing of vision.
for i have always needed you, she said
before the stone among the stones. and it
was true always, the howl that i was owling for.
or ever since it dawned on her how fine
the fiery threading of a needle, how
it blisters years with uncompostable weight,
the enemy one synthesized oneself to be.
to feel it as self-same brutality
from every spectral angel of your mystery.
the alchemy from suffering to face,
from poverty to panic, from the carelessness
of mirrored towers to a groundless refugee.
a fool, believing stones could learn to fly.

//