Faces

Not as transparent as I'd like,
A bit too thick and somewhat stained,
Both warped and bubbled so alike
That places pull to thin and strained.

And yet as good as I can craft,
So pour the silver on the back;
If they at their reflections laughed,
At least it wasn't at my lack.

It's not to build a mystery,
Or to defend a sacred heart-
It's just the little sprite in me
That begs to turn life into art.

While through the peepholes children peer,
The elders hold a council dark,
Uncaring of the hull's veneer
Aboard this groaning, ancient ark.

Through generation window-panes
I sometimes try to touch the air,
To taste the light the world regains
Ere habits can the sills repair.

So if you see a funny face
Or hear the creaking bark go by,
Just let a wave your laugh replace
And look for one unblinking eye.


--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com