Glass

Walking around surveying the wide world
With unseeing eyes, accustomed to all,
Stared at by a pair of dark orbs that would
Soon engulf, and here snow ceases to fall.

Lips move, but no sound escapes my prison.
Shaking, convulsing, a terrible quake,
White foam envelopes me like an infant
Resenting folds and chains that would not break.

Existing in my glassy boundary
No control more than a hunter's quarry.