Patrick Dumas (August 1,1985 / Milford, CT)
Suspended on a beam of moon-light,
a silhouette against the window pane
when the man in the sky watches over us.
Awoken when the first
rays of our new rising star
pierce its glass body
in a galaxy of kaleidoscopic colors
across the room and into my eyes.
The window ornament hangs still
as the heartbeat of surprise,
only vacillating when the morning breeze
asks it to dance in celebration of its rebirth.
A moon and sun connect in a circle
to form its abdomen, linked stars – triplets – descending
in size make up its arms and legs.
The moon is a tarnished blue
with eyes of sadness and majestic intelligence.
The grin of the sun with wild eyed hopefulness
gives away its warm heartedness colored in
orange and outlined in red.
The stars of its limbs are clear as those
in the night – telescopes into the crystal unknown.
Such a simple reaction – light touching glass,
and yet it allows this metamorphosis
of the prisms to show their true ability,
otherwise dormant in existence.
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