Glass house

The phantoms of past hurts
Would knock at my midnight
At the unlit corner where
Awareness took a blind turn.
I tried to think of violet flowers
Strewn on the garden path
Sundials with quick hands
And full-grown Great Danes
Chasing wintered shadows .
Morning would quickly break
In the aura of a glass-house
And the luminescent spaces
Of sun-lit bamboo groves.

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