Under glass I stretch,
out life, not to
smell tree sap or leaf.
Or breezing wind.
Catch rain that drops
on tipped toe tongues.
No horizons
lead crystal walls.
And beyond,
tangled imaginations,
a hunger of beasts.
I see my knees and
look in vain,
for the grazing
of a life not lived.
Under glass, dry tears,
await night's shadow
to take the trees away.
Now danger only song in
this apocalyptic dark.
Hunters eyes dwell
beyond the confines,
of my glass walls.
I read and watch,
food bottled and tinned.
I gather up fear,
a glowing landscape
into which
I can never venture.
Soft song, sang a requiem.
Last of my line.
© Dai Fry 8th May 2020.