We see each other
Through the crystalline aftermath
Of a heated, three-way debate
Among sand, salt, and lime,
Whipped to a silicic frenzy
That causes light to grimace
Into cringing colors.
A dilution, an enhancement:
We shape our vision,
Rolling, blowing, pushing, pulling,
Working quickly
Before it cools and cracks.
Then we call seeing a passive event,
Behind the glass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love Venice...and Murano glass.... and all my memories are revived!