A glass, fragile and crystalline, 
from minerals in the dripping water, 
that falls from above in a steady stream, 
slowly forms, beauty's daughter. 
Standing in a cavern in my heart, 
it gains a soft majesty and force, 
with the subtlety of a poison dart, 
and the power of a killer horse. 
Tipping to dispense its contents, 
into the stream that flows to me, 
against the chalice there's no defense, 
in malice, it sends love to me. 
Every glance at Her fills the glass, 
to be poured into me, 
to show its intense effectiveness, 
as I act foolishly. 
But She knows just where to strike, 
slowly and carefully, 
stabbing through the glass with a spike, 
and tearing me painfully. 
Every piece falls to the floof, 
to slice into my heart, 
agony floods my core, 
but this is only the start. 
The crystal stands 
in a ruined pile in the stream, 
like razor hands 
on a ditch-digging team. 
Slowly shards reform and rise, 
the glass lives again, 
the one I know She'll despise, 
and smash again and. . . 

April 25 & 26, 1985