Transparent

And how the afternoons
Expand indefinitely,
While the nights reflect the magic of glass,
Treacherous and transparent;
Together, we flood the stars,
To illuminate the mornings.

Under such light, you trace
Prismatic details, ones I thought secret, 
Pose attentive, prescient questions;
Vision is a powerful thing.
Thus delighted, you use the terrifying word
With all the ease of water,
With the weight of the decade it has waited.
What might be swirls around us,
And I do not fight the current.

But is she so legible to everyone? 
He cannot help but wonder.
Little Morsel, they call her;
Too sweet, too forgiving?
Perhaps, and there is evidence she needs me.
Better intentioned, and unlike the others,
I, inventor of all she imagined,
No peace unless I build it for her,
Stillness in the eye of the tempest — 
Believing it is easier than you would think.

Surprisingly, though, it is I, 
Tracing the contours,
Scaling the parameters,
Clambering to the summit,
Limitless in miniature;
The choice, mine alone, 
Of whom to juxtapose and how much.
Am I yet chosen enough?
Asks the little dove.
When might I, once and for all, forget that I am free?
If only you could imagine:
How little you have to fear;
How frightened I am;
How close is Kingdom Come.