Glass Poetry Press

Volume One Issue One

John Grey


You become glass as you sleep,
Dreams reflect, life shines through,
arms, legs, even breath are now windows.
You don't roll over so much
as intercept my eyes, refract my
last thoughts before I doze.
Non-crystalline but don't tell your skin.
Cut and engraved… it's the least God could do.
Lime fused with soda and silica…
and all from the way your hair
interacts with the pillow it smothers.
You're not hard to the touch
but there's survival in your softness.
You can crack
but just so a man might slip through.