Skin and Glass
Spun glass skin
So fragile
Transparent
Porous
Splintered with holes
My brittle body
A broken figurine
Of stained glass
Shelved
In the back closet
Years pass
Skin turns to paper
Bones to dust
Blackened
Abandoned, alone
Backward Design, or Outward in?
An avid puzzler, I read fiction with similar tactics Building the outside edge, the boundary, Then slowly crafting the faces The recognizable parts, the eyes, And bodies begin to emerge As I weave toward the center Keeping the background for last, The sky, the grass, the foliage: Greens and blues that complete the story. And when all the pieces are in place, I want to take them apart and read it again.
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