Smooth Surfaces

I placed my hand upon the glass barrier before me.
Feeling the unsight.
Cloudeded by particles of evrything and nothing.
The flat matte, where no such thing was possible
wrote diction’s notes and fancied tales of make-believe.
My fingertips touched the smooth surface, and journied with
the initial chill that turned to warmth
as my humanity joined with its vulnerability.
Reflections and refractions were not in this place.
There was something virtual, and relative to the presence...
of glass.
Its dichotomy of smooth and sharp, whether broken or a solid field,
not translucent but dressed in black opaque.
My hand wondered about feelings and sensations,
dark densities and light screens,
seeing through the unseeable.