Glass Poetry Press

Volume Three Issue One

J. P. Dancing Bear

Assumpta Canaveral

— for Blaise Allen Somewhere along a cape, old war scientists are building an angel to pierce the atmosphere. Somewhere the beach sand is turning into glass — like coke bottles. Young boys have come to the sunny shore to construct sand castles and light their piccolo-petes, bottle-rockets and roman candles — even though there is no national holiday today. The old men have rolled up their pant legs and step on the lip of the sea. They laugh like gold doubloons lost in a Sargasso storm. They do not think the sun is too bright anymore — they think they've seen brighter stars.