I.
A carpet of grass enrobed with glass
A pine sports shining spears, and tears do
Drop from the edges of all the world.
Each twig is gilded on trees growing silver
–Who said that money can’t grow on the trees?
Their armor is priceless!–but fragile,
So fragile is glass and light;
And bright fragility is a mirror.
Mirrors: the balance of truth and perception.
All mirrors can be broken–
or warped by inversions of light–
To distort how we see.
II.
The graceful teardrops edging houses
Fall no more in sweet suspension.
Torn by the wind, in the wind they are breaking
The balance of mirrors so serene,
So severe.
III.
Two years ago
there was
brokenness.
Fear of the chaos of twisting and warping the earth and the sky and the farm and the field and the faith in a building won’t stop it from falling or flipping–inverting the comforts of nature and freezing the faces of all of the fearful and faithful with cracks in the balance and shattering glass.
In breaking a mirror, perception’s impeded.
Reality’s thrown to the carpet below.
The torn tears of edges remark on the chaos
That broke all the mirrors only
Two years ago.
IV.
But in this morning,
The sea of glass-gilded-silver-white
Washes the fragments of
fear that
Tornadoes will
leave in their wake.
V.
The mirror of balance shall reign once more,
Chaos shut out by the merciful door
Of the clouds raining silver and glass last night,
Creating this mirror, fragile balance of light.