Days like pale glass marbles spiral down
a perfect geometric tube, and drown
in oceanic depths of unexplained
past, oppressive hefts of heat and sound,
but every time these two abstractions meet
the glass erupts an opalescent gleam
(apotheosis of a shattered beam
of light) and stubbornly eludes defeat.
A perforated world can’t contain
the words to abruptly redeem a thousand days;
nameless meanings, seeping in, displace
the sense, and only brittle poems remain.
Words are shards, but silence is a lie,
so as the measured marble days amass
I’ll let them leak their grains of broken glass,
their mesh of haunted colors that never die.