Glass Angler
Free verse poetry
The wind is scissors cutting glass, slanted shafts of light grinding— on the water’s face. A refracting crown of liquid folds. Deep blues carved, deeper still, a gaping chasm, dragging me down like a stone. Electric thoughts—currents becoming roads. Submerged in cerulean hollows— ashes and salt settle on moss and against the skin of porous rock. Sinking further still, to quiet kingdoms. Nine layers deep. A thermal shaft, a silver door— a jagged tilt in perception. Traces of stars glowing under penumbra depths, with scissor teeth— cutting— drawing molten glass to flame. And me, a glowing shard— only in oblivion made whole.
Oh this is such a visual and aural delight. Very nice.
A burst of flavours in my imagination.
Greetings Alma, I love what you create in my mind with your line “Electric thoughts—currents becoming roads” a super poem! May all be well in your neighborhood 💛 Geraldine