Glass blowing is an ancient art and there are times when
I wish I hadn’t seen that you had mastered that long before
I knew that your shape was one crafted to perfectly match mine
And that you were warm and malleable and that
Your heart did not deform but only perform the beats that I wished
To hear from you and your roar is always in my ears now
A voice from the furnace that made me but unmade me first
And the truth is that your green glass shape will always hold
My husband’s wine and the light that I shimmer with
The trestle turns and another shapes me now but
I was blown away by a shooting star