The Stained Glass

I drew the curtains and saw the frosting on my window;
A misty film a child on some earlier morn had espied -
And others too, by the invisible now made manifest,
Which shapes and lines drew in the imagination of my eyes.

A good ten minutes passed staring at my stained-glass window
The bottom half criss-crossed in a dry but dewy dance.
Though the top of it was clear, unstained for viewing,
I was captured, contained in my close-up glassy trance.

Then the sun, until now hidden, turned on my window
And at once its light did light the far fields unexplored,
And lazily my eyes took in the panorama,
Until then, through my distraction, most visibly ignored.

I think it normal that life leaves marks upon our windows,
But living well is not found in misty men's motifs;
The light that lifts them lays bare embroidered boundaries;
It beckons us beyond – to look through, not at, our glassy leaf