Ken's Poetry

Crazed Things

With heart-stop crack the windscreen shatters
the world instantly crazed
behind cracked-glass.
Stopping by the roadside
I peer through the spider screen
and think of:
lace in ice from the birdbath
the fissured bed of a dried up river
misshapen tiles on crumpled foil
sandstone split by the bulging earth
old china with its filigree of lines
net-glaze of old portraits in slant light.
My face white in the mirror
and my hand no longer shaking
both creased with the same crazed print
of shattered glass.