in the bird garden the glass blower wears
a wooden face. is careful to talk sweetly 
to the fire so as to not lose his teeth.
all day he works making skulls: baby skulls
& dead men skulls & possom skulls. 
lets the heat shape each fabulation. this boy
will come to want an apple orchard 
& this person will always crave a balcony.
our wants are this old. yearnings from our makers 
& all the garden birds who whisper in the oldest langauge. 
he holds each skull before setting them 
on a mossy stone to be taken & put to use.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.