The glass pane reflects
That soft glint of a lost love,
Yet never reveals it clear:
Rather sharp, broken, as if
Shattered by your heart's recede,
And glaring with cracks and corners
The sun's beams in blinding light.
Those memories, that glass pane,
Their presence disturbs you, yet
To lose your opaque, shattered window
Is to lose that happy sight into
The open spaces of your heart.
Do not replace that window. Let it
Bore its presence, but build a new one,
And be more careful.