Of Marriage, of Glass Gardens

Chihuly Garden and Glass, Seattle

Inside, sheaf after sheaf, glass
strawed into gold, glass wicked into flame-colored weeds,

blown into seed pod, trumpet flower.

We stand together in the glass garden made of sand and fire.

The desire is to blow the glass almost to the point of collapse—


Let’s climb inside Mille Fiori: Italian for 1,000 flowers.
Let’s stand among the fragile reeds, glass leaves that you swear
when we pass.
Want to read more?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.