The Glass is cold.
Well it's more than mere glass, I know,
not the mundane glass that fills a regular earthbound window.
It's so cold to the touch,
but then why touch such a sealed threshold.
Alas, portholes don't open,
luckily, since space is even more cold.
It's more like ice than glass,
it's best to simply look without touching.
But, the view calls.
Calls with the melodious voice of one you adore.
Earth, the Moon, even Mars, anywhere at all is preferable to the nowhere of space,
anywhere you can see,
in fact, just anyplace that can be called a place.
Oh, we are someplace.
Some theoretical pinpoint on some 3-D chart.
But you can't name a pinpoint,
and it's not where you hang you hat or your heart.
So I gaze out at my home ,
careful not to touch the glass that is not real,
for the glass is cold
and that cold is too alike the coldness I already feel.
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