Her crane glass neck is long like a rose stem,
Her porcelain skin glows like neon cream,
Her red curls show age by growing blonde highlights,
as if the light inside has peeked through the stain glass,
and the sun has reflected off the brass bones of a lantern,
made of crystal and centuries of baptism,
and joyous clamor,
like a spirit dressed in a woman's pulchritude.
This is my daughter's mother.
Yet, i play a lonely hobo,
lamenting the moon's glow under the warmth of the sun.

-cb