Glass globes enclose
moments of bliss.
Figurines that could
perch on
a swirled fingertip-
laughing,
skating,
dancing,
embracing-
In spheres
of fluid time.
Scenes dusted
in settled snow,
slight chimes waiting
to peal twinkling notes.
Carefully, I approach
the glistening shelf
that is my temporal lobe,
and select a silvery world
to shake,
to stir,
to hold.
pm poetry 