after Émile Gallé’s “speaking glass,” 1888-1889
The broken world now grit beneath his feet
he spins another planet from the flames,
twists the pedestal base, a frozen river,
adds soot to darken the greens, then gold
for bands of insect wing. He casts the lovers
in amber and with a wheel engraves a verse
about the cursed obsidian chambers of the heart,
the haunting song that hastens its unraveling.
Barefoot over folded lava and pitch,
the bright cup of the world whispers to the beloved
something about flowers again, and rain.
Traveling toward the cold event horizon of spring
her eyes have turned to whirlpool galaxies.
He reaches out, she’s nothing he can hold.
This poem first appeared in Amethyst Review (2024).
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Kelly Houle’s poetry has been published in CALYX, Crab Orchard Review, Kenyon Review, Radar Poetry, Sequestrum, and other publications. She has recently been named a finalist for the Fischer Prize, the Arts and Letters “Unclassifiable” contest, and the Montreal International Poetry Prize.
