More Than Glass by Stephen Brown Back to browse title
It was 3 or 4 in the morning when a crash
brought us to our senses.
The newlyfallen snow had caused
the ghostly sap of spring to shiver
softly, and a stalactite of glass
from my broken bedroom window
to slip and make mincemeat
of the white veranda,
and to sober me up,
suddenly,
to my own
singularity.
 
Selected Poems by Ted Burford
   
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