Marbles roll across her cherry table
late night. She upset the jar of Earth
azures, goldstones of Mars. Her dang-
ling fixture spotlights glass worlds spin-
ning across the linen.
Wrapped in middle
ofthenight aloneness, she jumped when the
fridge hum kicked in and stirred up her calm.
The smith melted silica for her; from his panes
he twisted up spheres, sealing their liquid spirits
inside. In the flame, storms struck shell to center,
emerald meadows grew under the rain.
hardened, imprisoned inner things in protection as a
soul in the kitchen darkness scales her skull to escape.
He molded thousands of flowers in domes to save them
from themselves, to freeze beauty in death’s silence.
petals inside keep blooming in their colors—spilled spirals
spread infinite arms, vortices tunnel her core, spun as blood
ribbons swim crystal bubbles, refusing that slow paralysis of
forgotten dead. And each unsocketed eye sees itself rained on
her wooden floor, losing itself under her oven in the dusty calm.