To your words I am glass.
Across the clear solid
their blazing power approaches.
Penetrate without shatter.
Verbal x-rays, a testament
to your vision, which must be solar.
The cadaver of a young swimmer
is how you say floating.
A whisper buried in ice
is how you say forever.
The coals of the sky
is how you say clouds.
I would like your ink stained
handprint left on my surface.
A smudged aperture to the chest
where you words are stored.
A visible meditation to verify
your existence from here.
In your own words
through the glass, this is me
when your sun comes through:
The cadaver of a young swimmer
in the coals of the sky
a whisper buried in ice.
DQ 4/27/07
