The Glass Man
He fabricated a matchbox from nowhere in particular.
Offering me a candle, he lit those of varying heights.
“No sir, just perusing your shop today I suppose.”
He creaked the floorboards to a shaded backroom.
A yellowing acorn rested high atop on one shelf,
Stone blocks with engraving laiden on an oaken desk.
Nothing I had not seen before so far, I seek new.
I seek the wonders I know the glass man sells.
Another pace into the shop lead to just that.
A blue velveteen box resided alongside the register.
He came back out, his clear eyes prisms of brightness.
“So you’re the young lady this belongs to.”
It now read my name in diagonal silver stitching,
Though it did not only moments previously.
But with this man, that’s all he needed require.
He pushed it to me and burst into translucent rain.