• The Closed Glass
• You are cold, O glass,
• empty and clouded
• as a winter grove.
• A closed glass
• extends no cooling shadow,
• offers no blackberries’ blood.
• Polished in breezes
• you have slept,
• a drifting crescent
• thinning like hair,
• reflecting yourself
• as stars blacken
• and swell with storm.
• Unseal—
• libate yourself,
• still the blasting mouth
• of the wind.
• Reach your shell of quiet
• over me.