Glasswork

my love who shelters in his words

sometimes falls silent for a sudden eternity

breathes that silence into a bell of glass

in which he calms storms

he draws lee lines in what was

it’s more like a firefirm crackling

when he takes up words with ease

in a single glance, caressing my body

I read him day and night. What will it be like

when he withdraws into the word old,

arranges a last room, silver-white,

pushes the furniture a bit closer together

and crams still more fragile glass inside—

what will it be like when he grows transparent and breaks