Shifting Shapes

In this glass, darkly, I conceive

The comings, the goings, the starlings,

The leaves.

Jeweled tears from the Dark Orb

At my feet do form

Puddles of existence

Wherein images do swarm…

Whether Chance, Freewill, or Fated,

The windows too behold

All that passes by,

All that's done or told.

I sit at table to partake

And there before my eyes,

In every cup and dish,

Again this world it lies.

And the eyes that receive this world

Often their own souls do deflect:

Outward never inward,

The dead to resurrect.

These shifting shapes they mesmerize -

And hold I know not why:

The world at once all doubled,

Elusive eye to I.