I see red water and blue doves
And the little boy is a faint orange
With a kite and sweater of dark green
Looking through the stained glass window of my fathers church
I don't care for blue doves any longer but I cannot move its place
Or change the colors
But maybe I can try
I am acting on stupidity
But stupidity seems like fun
I break the glass with a swing of my foot
And shards fall cutting my ankles
I do not mind the blood
Nor the stares from old women
In their best Sunday clothing
But I mind the fuming pastor
I gather the pieces and run out the door
Heavy, with brass handles
Cool to the touch but I run on
Hands bleeding onto the rim
Of my old knitted, navy blue sweater
I am in the water now
The glass floats freely
As I rinse off the cuts
While new ones form from floating glass
I go deeper into the water where
The shards of stained glass can't get me
I dive under the water
Everything's tinted light blue
I found my new stained glass
And I now see the world in blue.