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