Glass Light

Bottles blue against

a grey sky -- some

dug from dusty cellar

holes, two or three

rescued from the dump,

the rest passed down

from other windowsills.

One used to keep

the dimes my mother

saved. Another is in

disguise (actually clear,

but full of blue water).

The tallest is a memory

of wine and celebration.

The tiniest and oldest

held a medicine man’s

tincture. They stand

along the rim of morning

casting tinted ghosts

onto a cool white wall.