A Pair of Glasses

What is it you called morgana was not the red glow

Of the wine glass or plain morning but candle light

Too was and we grew older then and now what’s

Not the same.

Eventually crawls like a bastard onto a highway

Garden path or a train station platform revealed

Long old we had worked on broom handles and

You clutter in the midnight like

An attic.

Glasses like sky tiptoe dawns before us

With no light and dank geranium aspects

So the cloud no longer seemed like a jellybean

Or a tunic of grapes you lapped.

Perhaps we oft the stars when climbing down

Miles of handshakes light years of handfuls

A smiling jerk concerned with door hinges

Doesn’t matter now that dinner is forgetting.

Harm is now immeasurable there is no

Meter by the bed stained glass has no chance

Against

“Brick and mortar and lime” once used

To build his tower.

Up to the sky communicating distance

How when one is gone no other takes its place.