The myth of glass melting, slowly sliding
down the pane, is not true—wait a thousand years,
if you must, but glass will hold its form.
We know this, yet the myth persists.
Something about glass being liquid appeals
to our notion that everything is mutable.

A change of heart perhaps—the forming and melting
of glaciers.  A chunk breaks off the size of Manhattan.
But is it ice or glass—this thing we call heart.
Not the pump, but whatever that loves—
or hates.  Glass cracks, shatters, is splattered
with mud and bugs, but it does not melt.


First published in Enigmatist