glass befriends the light and the darkness with an appreciation for mystery as the light might be coming in and the darkness going out, or the light going out and the darkness coming in—it is impossible to tell unless you are the glass and have a knowledge of invisible forms, essences.

this is my paean to glass as the hard core of perception that both distorts and does not distort but respects the concave and convex of every beating atom, every beating soul seeking to flee the confines of space and time and move, faster than light, into the currents of air that fill emptiness and also form the frames for interpretation—all based on longing, need, and some desire for connection.

glass that does not touch the light but feels it passing; glass that does not need the light—or the darkness—to be emboldened by emptiness or filled with reflections; glass that knows more than the Magi about journeys and what is (or isn't) found following bright stars across deserts or waves or valleys.

glass hearts are so much the same—beating but not feeling, able to break into hundreds of pieces that each will continue reflecting the image, letting the light—or darkness—pass through and vanish; some hearts will break from the pressure within, and some will break from loneliness for the universe is existential and unforgiving—not at all like glass that holds no grudges, seeks no revenge, and takes on the shape / contours of any being near enough to be within the glass' range of vision—so much as any spirit, any insight, seeking to be free, but bound in some dimension(s)—one, two, or three.