Columbo's eye， Peter Falk's indivisible

    from the other's vitreous dupe that he can pocket，

    rub into， off of， and shine the crystal eyeball after

    it subs in a game of table pool. Oh yeah！

    The future of fortunes is manufactured revelation

    of a snow globe： when the right someone gets his hands

    on such a world， that world is shaken to pieces， the glass

    is tapped in the aquarium， semitransparent arowanas remain

    inexplicable， a tapper's desire breaks out： oh to become glass，

    to slide the foot into a transparent baby slipper arowana

    and dance with a prince whose glass toenails

    shatter when he runs after glass-footed beauties

    born that way， skin so thin it hides nothing

    without actually being clear， sneak peak

    at the friable optic nerve， the components

    separated only by glass

    through which all seen becomes transparent， criminal

    activity obvious， the put-on of opaque alibis

    exposing a fear of crime's transparency：

    finger prints on the latex interior of the gloves，

    imprint of a face on the wrong side of the mask：

    at some level， a matter of seeing eye dog versus unseeing

    eye dog， culture of breed， hole-in-the-wall expectations， cash

    transactions， motel by the half-hour versus extended stay

    opulence just to sleep there for real

    with seeing eye dog sleeping on a braided rug half-under

    the bed of a blind girl， the girlishness not an issue，

    the dog not meant to be her guide into decisions， just

    crossings to which she becomes committed independently，

    regarding the cool dark of evening， the lapse

    of the feel of light as day's form of breathing，

    getting illumination off its wide chest

    until able to face again the responsibility of light

    that even this girl must accept behind glasses：

    day is hers too， given by an internal clock

    that wants all the bright hours， odor of rising，

    flowers opening with the bakeries， stunning

    synchronizations， a pas de deux， she steps， dog steps

    into the crosswalk at the same time as a man heading

    toward them with coffee， led also but by the Arabica， hookah

    descent， descant now to the caffeine

    that doesn't adhere to the glass mug： it is all for him，

    her too if they merge at first sight： the world of coffee，

    the culture of glass

    bottom boats， success：

    liquid assets： if solidity is the basic state

    that matters， it's obvious what happens：

    The dog retires， seeing what canines see

    for himself， fleas cross

    his coat without help other than his receiving

    no special treatment，

    tied in a twenty-foot yard frequented most

    by sunflowers， each seed

    like the eye of an insect.      An alley of a yard

    that from time to time becomes a crime scene

    in the blink of an eye

    the glass one melts last.