Brick And Glass Poem by Elisa M. Golden

Brick, glass, wind gusts.
You nestle in a window frame, roller ball poised.
I sit beside you, envying the stylus married to your hand.

Do you see through the glass of my exposed heart?
You, who are deep in thought with words -
Secure in a brick niche of ambivalence.

You touch the unresponsive pen tip to your mouth -
the ink won't come.
Wind curls around us as you dart your eyes up toward me.

April 25,1999