Shards of glass do not reflect this,
Nothing shimmering or fairy-light.
No iridescence comes to dwell here,
Surely as no wondrous eyes peer at
Moons that do not light this world.
Rather we live as reeling from a carousel,
The jarring sort that swirls us cruelly
Round its center, as if our own core is
Not worthy. We step off, step down --
Down and away, but
Vision is not restored or roots set right,
Nothing so merciful as that.
No, nothing shines here as we grasp at
Stars behind us, as
Love laughs toward us in your tired voice.
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