Crystal Ball

A little crystal ball,
Laced in silver,
Sits on the graying
Brown shelf by the window.
Collecting dust as the clock ticks.
A sepia photo lies next to the ball,
I knocked it over years ago by accident.
The nightmare was so real then,
And the glass shattered,
Making a wreath
Of silver swords on the aged paper.
I’m standing in the picture.
You’re there too you know.
My slender face expanded to its fullest,
By the floral cake
That you stuffed between my lips.
I gently fed you your piece.
We were happier then.
Blinder then,
Then we are today. Wearing glass domes
To read the same words we read years ago,
But have now forgotten.
A ceramic vase is beside the picture,
Colorful and bright,
Depicting a scene of glorious luminosity.
The sun and the moon are dancing in the sky.
We never found flowers to go with that vase,
It would have been too much for the eyes, you’d said.
Through the window I see the golden meadow,
Painted orange, lime, and sunny yellow.
The flowers reaching high,
Touched by the summer breeze.
The meadow is full, and over grown with weeds.
Your nightgown is draped over the chair in the corner.
Soft as a spiders web of dreams,
Laced in memories of yesterday.
Now its wrinkled from use,
And has a tear at the seams,
Just like us.
Built to last the face of time.
But even father time grew whiskers,
And the crows feet walk on him too.
Though neither of us are young anymore,
Beauty comes from all the little wrinkles,
Broken glass,
And wedding gifts,
Collecting dust as the cock ticks.