Glass Poetry

Heated orange hot
Glass molting spot
Pole presses down 
Pulls out
Liquid on stem
Constant turning
A little blowing
Then into the fire again
Out of the heat 
Saturated wood steams
Shapes forming 
Spinning, dizzying 
Back to the fire
To gather glass fibers
To spin to warm, to shape
Then reheat the mistakes
Breathe in once again
To make the glass thin
To dab on a color
That permeates the structure
Then cooled It sets
It is like us, let us not forget
You I lord have brought us
Through fire and ice
Multiple trials, spinning spirals 
Crafting a thing of beauty 
Purified clean, crystal clear
Glass shaped sphere

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