Leaving Glass

Anxious frames leave glass 
strewn across the lawn
whose grasses, tended by 
chemical love
entreat the barefoot
to burn a little.

It was restlessness
a sense of purpose
with less ness 
than lead to expect
that pressure spooked this
into taking grasp of my philodendron faculties. 

Annual towers crumble
at winter's behest
and it was my arctic circle
my glaciations
that trapped my Endurance
between ice sheets
and polar stares.

When would my trapped internal organ
take me out to a relevant ballgame?
Would my memorandum of wordiness
one day find traction
on the frozen shattered road?

Summer's answer was not heat but light
I might refract, melt, re-form, and
evaporate into an atmosphere
whose nimbus airwakes 
could guide not reckoning:
floating falling leaves.

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