Shattered Snowglobe

The sky is grey-white glass, a windowpane
that’s frosted, etched with acid, stung by sand
to keep out peering eyes. But don’t complain—
we live inside a snowglobe. Someone’s hand
will shake it up. The sky will clear, and soon
the sun will shine, relentless glare of fire,
or else we’ll see a peeking, gibbous moon
a wicked, half-closed eye.
Remake, entire
this sorry scheme of things! Captivity,
pinned on a card, pressed under glass, confined
by our perceptions of reality,
by frosted glass that stunts a half-grown mind!
The sleeping Dormouse wakes up as a Hatter,
we spread our wings and leave the snowglobe shattered.