laughing, the green glass
orb catches the ray
of the lamp, throwing
sparks on the walls

"it is your heart," i laugh
and let it dance
on my pink fingers
and off their tips

only to catch it mid-air
for a thief's glimpse
of your heart stopping.
and then the laugh

ripples out from the
stone of my wit and need.
sometimes i let it
brush the carpet

short of shattering --
but its gold glitter
brushes the strands
as i snatch it up.

but here
is what i do not say:

that the glass globe
is not your heart
snatched by my child hands --
and this is no game.

no. it is you
who hold my heart
in your unlovely palms
to hold or hurl

free or freeze
hang on the pine bough
or crush to a cloud
of sharpened dust

and it is my lips
that part to gasp
although my teeth give no word
and my eyes build the fortress