It as a liquid form of glass.
A dangerous yet useless concoction.
The broken edges that splintered
away have rejoined the state
of bliss. Now, a new
piece in transit, I work to get
the next chapter underway with
a fragile and thin newness.
This glass in my chest.
It is my heart.
copyright 01-18-2009©® Sarah Sisson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem