I press quiet against the glass

and you press up against yours

In halls and paths we’ll never pass,

confined to walls and just one door.


We’re soft, we’re hard, we weep and toil

graveyard plants in potted soil

The gardener and the bots, you see

tend to us so carefully

We’re framed with dreams of love and sky

never seeing with our eyes


She dreams of fires beside the beach

his eyes, his soul, his gilded speech

But glass and prints of hand remain

All our dreams are in a frame


I am electric – you are too

The charge is gone then so are you

Dare she throw the cord away

and touch his hand in bright of day?


And then out of the room she grew

no gardener, no bots of blue

She walked barefoot along his path

Her breath a cloud upon his glass


He saw her face beyond the frame

everything was not the same

Skin so pale  – not strong – but weak

“You are not the one I seek.

go back behind your frame of blue.

I am me, but who are you?”


~Marlies Vonn