First I Look at the Poem

Not the clothes of thought, the bones,
And these bones, friends, are more bent
Than neat lines and fixed counts hint.

We know when you look through us
Like glass. We like it. See that
Shade fly up? That’s you. Don’t crash.

We know we’re like glass. We break.
Throw the light back in your face.
In time, like all glass, we’ll sag.

We were made from things that were
Made from things that were waves first.
Watch us walk. Watch how we shake,

How we try to hold the sky
From the ground, how we slow down
When we ache, then give a wave.