The Glass Pane
I stand behind the thick glass pane
my breath forming frost on the glass.
Making it misty. Fogged.
I try to peek out, yet everything
everything is clouded, unclear.
I rub away frantically at the glass
yet the frost just keeps on forming.
I look out, squinting
at the parts of the play that
zoom past me. I can only
hear snatches of it, see snatches of it.
I try to reach out, yet my fingers
can only touch the cold glass pane.
I let my fingers drop, making
marks on the frost before it forms again.
I move away from it. The glass pane
just follows me. It's behind me,
every step I take.
Blocking me from my memories, my past.
I can only look out from it, stare out from it
I can choose to stay there looking, staring.
Yet I can't cross the glass pane
the barrier to my memories, my past.
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far and wee
you and i together mysteriously and always floating
Sunday, July 17
9:44 PM
