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The Other Side of the Glass
Hope is all I have,
when I have it.
Now it goes
to fly among my days
elusively flutter away
when I make to capture it
nor does it come unbidden
when ignored.
I control only the corner of this table.
The shape of my letters is a friend,
well known,
black on yellow paper
green plastic surface
white plate
hand's texture.
To drift in this sensory depth
is either compensation or escape
as the moving, acting, world flows
on the other side of the glass.
Purpose and motion
generate gravity waves
to whitecap spray
wash and break against
the far side of the glass.
In here,
only my mind moves
deep into the surfaces
at this corner of the table.
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