GLASS BLOWER

I fell toward the glassblower's breath
Waiting to be formed
While molten and shining
Releasing heat to the room.

Dangerous and painful
If touched or brushed.
Yet malleable and liquid
Shaped into designs

Clear or cloudy
Who knows but the glassblower?
Who's breath resounds
Taking his time.

Not to cool too rapidly
Not shaped to fall
Fearing the glass might fail
Crash to the ground.

Crack under the strain
Tiny fissures too small
To worry that might
Show them selves later.

~Dave~
1 October 2004

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