Time out of Mind

You can get close. I won’t bite.
You can get close as you want,

But know this, there will be things
In me that you will not see,

That will hide, still, with no help
From me. I am not a jar

With a cork, box with a lid,
Chest with a key on a chain.

This poem is a small glass space,
Ein Klein Krug. You can see through,

And in the right light it looks
Like there’s not a thing in me

Or there is—just what is it?
Stream of sand or glint of wings?

Peer in, as close as you like.
I have no mouth. I won’t bite.