Carnival Glass

Winter is near.

Here

In the north----

East sun rises low

To set on the threshold west,

Bringing sunlight

To the room.

At noon

Tall windows

Closed in the long east wall

Mix sun beams and dust motes

Which fall

Across glass panes----

To rain before a distant

Scene of leafless trees

And barren marsh.

The only flowers now

In harsh reveries

Of gray sky gloom

Are carnival glass----

Making portals

In the prow windows

Of the living room.

What mystic glories

Gave these cut glass

Lorries of dinner service,

 These free-be store box-prizes,

Aristocratic class----?

Are they one setting  free

Of linen, crystal, heavy silver

And just a sliver of make believe?

Without light

On the window sill,

They stand propped,

Dull

Golden slicks

Opaque to the Carnival,

And closed to greater delight.

But then,

At just this time of year,

Focused light makes undone

The lacking cheer,

Dazzling the fragility

Of glass,

To pass through

And become the sun.