The Window

No glass is pureOr vacant of a scene.My window showsA robin’s red and knowsThe sky, serene,Blue, broad, and sure. Glass is not still,But dapples, sways our sightOf lead limbed tree,It’s panes not blank, nor free,But quick with light;Light’s note and trill. So sacral glassAdmits the infiniteAnd moving blazeWhich burgeons in all days;Becomes, in it,The light, just as The light becomesThe color, shaped and stained:Bemattered spirit,And we, in vision, near it.Yet what is gained?All light succumbs. Light’s waves lapse still,Its particles dispersed;Or else it hidesBehind the titan sidesOf Earth, immersedIn night’s old chill. Yet instant standsExperience’s shapeBefore the mind,Truth’s body now divined;Her breast and nape,Her limbs and hands. But memoryKeeps no perfected vision;The blinds are drawn,The photograph is goneIn time’s quick scission;The faces flee. The life of thingsIs known, at least, and seen,In fragments, piecedTogether. What has ceasedTo be has been,Yet memory rings. I hope the seedOf images abused,Unworshipped, shattered,Now pollinated, scattered,Will bloom, re-fused,Our rose of need; That rose which blooms— Despite the subtle warsOf mind and world —In fire that’s jeweled and pearledFrom heaven’s corridorsAnd lighted rooms. Featured in New Lyre - Spring/Summer 2026 Michael Yost is a poet and essayist living in rural New Hampshire with his wife and children. He is earning his M.A. in Creative Writing from the University of St. Thomas in Houston Texas. His essays and poems have been published in places like The University Bookman, Dappled Things, Crisis Magazine, the St. Austin Review, The Brazen Head and Hearth and Field. Follow him at The Weight of Form on Substack. Read the full issue Forthcoming—New Lyre Spring/Summer 2026 Watch Exiting the Cave This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit ageofmuses.substack.com/subscribe