Look not to me, but through; I’m only glass,
a window dimmed by soot, a slab of quartz
sliced to translucence, letting visions pass
within like sappers creeping into forts.
What medium cannot say it distorts
the message given, bends and dims the light?
The channel’s full of static, circuit-shorts
prevent transmission. I can get it right
in one way only: giving up the fight.
My will’s not mine. Surrender is the key
and I the lock will tumble, falling free
and open into Silence. No more chatter:
if I am glass, then God grant I may shatter,
if I must write, then God grant I may write!

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