See such hands folded exactly
glass & the colour of sunshine.
Face, wrinkled like wrought wood,
fire, white like stars.
A single stroke, a single bump,
tells her years of very stubborn work
rolling around her only art
ribbons tied across her lonely heart.
her neck blows like her husband’s blowpipe
the pipe at the back of the room
where she spent so many long, long nights
watching him work by heart.
Your eyes wonder & wonder:
to her the ever most sparkling bubble belongs.
The man of her dreams came true:
she caressed that glass, the hottest mass.
Fire, white like stars,
Face, wrinkled like wrought wood.
See such hands folded exactly
glass & the colour of sunshine.