OH my little house of glass! How carefully I have planted shrubbery To plume before your transparency. Light is too amorous of you, Transfusing through and through Your panes with an effulgence never new. Sometimes I am terribly tempted To throw the stones myself.
Arthur Davison Ficke - 1883-1945
Skeptical cat, Calm your eyes, and come to me. For long ago, in some palmed forest, I too felt claws curling Within my fingers... Moons wax and wane; My eyes, too, once narrowed and widened... Why do you shrink back? Come to me: let me pat you— Come, vast-eyed one... Or I will spring upon you And with steel-hook fingers Tear you limb from limb... There were twins in my cradle...