stained glass

through stained and cracked
glass I stare at a rising sun
perfect patterns of light and
warmth on top of a wooden floor
it could be anywhere
it could always be anywhere

from the endlessly morphing
intersection of time and self I will
steal bits and pieces away to hide
them in notebooks and photographs
suspend them in amber and
slowly forget where they
came from or why I keep them
but they still sit so nice on the shelf

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