Stained Glass

by Maddie DePuy

And you are like a stained glass window to me. Things feel more holy when I look through you. You have this way of stirring reverence in me. And there are few people you let feel your grooves. There are few people that know the divets, the way your iron shapes meet the corners of your colors, the way they corral the hot glass and wait as it cools and trace the masterpiece that is you. But you let me feel them. You let me know your temperature. I still know your temperature. 

And I am watching your temperature now as it runs. 

And I will let you run. And I will let you run like mascara like blood on asphalt like forgotten faucets run like noses run like paint runs like ships run aground like clocks run like running out. As far as you need to go, so far that you do not see me, not from the FDR riverwalk, not on your horizon, not through fog on the beach, not through your glass pieces. I will let you run like watching ink run a river between you between me because something tells me someday soon you will run out and you will run right back into me.