ON GLASS
“Had an uncle once – well, not an uncle really;
he was, in fact, my father’s cousin. Barking mad”.
(This story told around the dinner table – late December,
drifting snow, and within, a singing fire and candlelight).
“Convinced his arse was made of crystal glass
and spent his days and nights avoiding chairs.
Tripped and fell and died of shock!” We laughed amidst
the switching, brandy-coloured blades of light,
the blue confusion of the smoke from our cigars.
Round wineglass rims we trailed our moistened fingers
and they siren-sang in discord, beautiful and false.
We blew across the kissing lips of bottles and
they boomed and hooted, hollow-voiced, like
phantom lighthouses. The onyx window threw back
the illusion of our faces while beyond impenetrable glass
the cold world shifted, settled, unwtached, unwatching.
pic from: www.bluehillbaygallery.com/ na/0178.html
11:22:36 PM 
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