My best writing, I believe, is born in desperation. It is a unique feeling, an intersection of desire and fear, and it compels me. A geas most often born of lust, it is not always sourced in such a manner.
Sometimes it is found in something altogether more humbling.
For NE.
—
I, too, put my hand to glass
thinking the process
simple
poured molten sand
(with flecks
of
gold)
into a mold made
by my clasped
hands
born
I mistook their scars
for faultlines
felt compelled
to test their fragility
with my own
to ensure their strength
under
my scrutiny
until
all
(save one)
were shattered
she was the smallest
but her wings were large
enough
to hide
her eyes
(where all
of the gold
had found
a home)