In the morning we are glass Am morgen sind wir aus glas

What I withheld is this expanse of silent wetlands barren pond behind the village ground that haunts you like carp under the water's green froth bubbles of air they shiver, like you, when you breathe when that throbbing mix in your veins carries you and your thoughts are empty of all but birches pines and until you can hunt them down pursue those overgrown paths dare to summon the early losses they are nesting grounds still glowing beneath the failings of time * There is nothing left here: no pumping no rising or stretching the legs no swinging back & forth all day the blur of lights from the house cool breeze on the hands and at the rise a tarzan roar in the air the rope turning abruptly change in tension your audible pulse as you climb moment of suspension view across the plains bales of gray then launch scrapes these are the wounds of childhood to land on ground again like the very first time © Caroline Wilcox Reul Excerpted from In the Morning We Are Glass by Andra Schwarz All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.