ON A THRONE MADE OF GLASS

I saw You as a hand holding

mine

and the breath that

drew my daughter

into existence

and the voice that

told me not to drive

off the bridge

and a hardened

king throned against

us

But,

But.

Maybe more

like spirit and song

and feet beautifully

carved and hands holding

the world, or no hands at all.

Maybe the inside of an emerald

hovering on its throne made of glass

and insight to all things as we dwell

in a world, 

tiniest 

of neurons 

trying

to make sense 

of it all.