Crackles of oxidized flakes
emerge from molten weight
crawling on cold shards
in random hisses
filling eyelids
inheriting burgundy in this viscous flow
dripping from a strand, an eyelash
following the same path
down a smooth ravine
blotting, spreading its butterfly wings
at the corner of the lips.

A new drop of molten glass
emerges from the sliver of gap
against its own weight
finds another strand
to drip into the valley
infusing indigo into the corners

Will the next drop carry
her burden for the wings
into the orange hues
of the morning dew
in my desert.