by Sean McCormack

When wine-glass turns to candle
in symphony of blue glasses
she rises from sorrow’s frowning
and through pale meadows passes
where Iris teaches and rose consoles
with Ivy arms the struggling soul.


She tends her Fire gently
in microcosmic Field
where trees break out in laughter
and courage is revealed
as nothing more than midnight light
as suffering wed to Joy’s delight.


And now the blue-glass symphony
becomes her sacred Wine
and now she snuffs the candle
and quietly resigns
to sleep, and dreams of meadows pale
of midnight light and lifted veil.