And no amount of exterior scrubbing Can remove one smudge. Still, they are clear. Clear enough to see the rumpled bed sheets, The empty plate, The spilled juice.
Shadows pass through the rooms Eating food from the fridge, Opening the tap, Changing nothing.
Everything is translucent, Intangible, And no one can right the glass. To comment on poetry, go to our public, on-line discussion forum. Individual Copyrights are the responsibility of the poet.