The Glass Tower

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I am a bad omen, standing bare

You sit atop the mountain made of glass

Do not stone me, let the light remain.


Dawn the earth feels strange beneath my feet

I rise alone with no one calling me

The ground resists belonging to my name.


I eat my bread in rooms that echo back

No ring, no child ,no witness waits at home

The hours know me only as I pass.


The birds possess the sky they do not doubt

The fox returns to shelter made of bone

I walk still roofless through inherited dust.


I ask from where my breathing first began

I ask what road receives me at the end

The silence listens but refuses form.


My hands grow cold with promises unkept

The ringfinger lies still against a sleeping nerve

Desire waits without a door to knock.


Only the mind has not grown numb with time

Only the mind keeps cutting through the dark

The body rests but thought will not lie down.


I bear the name of omen without choice

A sign they read before I speak or move

Their eyes rehearse my failure in advance.


I climb the glass where every flaw is seen

I sit above their hands on brittle height

One fall would end me into scattered light.


Do not lift stones I ask them quietly

I am already fractured by the climb

I stand exposed enough without your aim.


The lighthouse turns where endings meet the sea

Its beam divides the dark from what may come

It does not answer yet it does not leave.


The hours pass like water over stone

I learn the grammar of remaining still

Hope works in gestures smaller than belief.


If dawn arrives it comes without a vow

If mercy speaks it speaks without a name

I stay until the light agrees to stay.


I am a bad omen, standing bare

You sit atop the mountain made of glass

Do not stone me, let the light remain.

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