“Two shapes float silently in the darkness with the soft glimmer of a winter canopy in moonlight. Silence held the room. As the first small orb rose above the towers, a dazzling glow danced between the frozen branches of the batches before. Allowed to rest, the tension breaks and begins unraveling. Heat banished the silence. Thin glowing trails form between these shapes, sizzling, popping, adding and subtracting. As the tip of the post retreats into the darkness before finding the warmth of the furnace, I am reminded that I am cold. 

More and more glass laps and flickers between the cold towers, solidifying a bridge. These two things are now a third. A cocoon slowly digesting its hosts, condensing their beauty. 

Each glob pulled from the fiery maw tastes of sweet relief as it drizzles. It swaddles and comforts like wood-fed fire as crackles echo through the space. The eyes and the body begin to hunger for each morsel of fresh glass. Craving the afterglow. Each time the rod retreats, I feel a desperate quiet pain - itching for the continued relief of the blistering salve. 

The time and number of gathers melt away as a thick sun crust envelopes the piece. The constant chatter of glass has slowed. I am convinced no more can be done. The towers, the connection, strong enough to hold. Until one final drop broke its back and toppled what once was.”

Kat Kauffman