The worker of stained glass


The worker of stained glass

Your large hands, folded and at rest

course and weathered to suggest

the myriad ways you held us all together.

Shot through with veins like pipes

you worked with all your life

in half-formed buildings

or in a dark basement

hunched over your desk and craft,

you provided endlessly.


I was always impressed

that working man’s hands like these

could be so graceful and precise to plant seeds

to fasten tiny shades of light

to a garden of glass

where luminous flowers bloom in chandeliers

to outlast any dark or drought.

To your hands I pay homage

those hands that built the cottage

crafting a family to place inside

those unique borders and lines.

Each piece of varying shade and hue

in time will become the glue

that holds the whole pattern together,

each is necessary.


I’ve spent these last few nights

looking into the light of your lamps

and all their watery eyes.

I realized that if only there was enough glass

to contain the stain

of all the loss and pain death leaves behind,

perhaps the light coming through

could guide from within you

like glittering shards

from our collective windows

shining paths in our empty yards,

paths that will lead us through the lonesome winter

to the warmth of being together.


4 thoughts on “The worker of stained glass

  1. Dominick .. ” The worker of stained glass” … unbelievably beautiful .. an unforgettable tribute to a very special man.
    Love, Grandma

    • domtakis says:

      Thank you Grandma! It came out of that crazy and trying time we were all going through. It was the least I could do for him, to be there in spirit. He gave me so much, I appreciate you reading and commenting.

  2. Lila says:

    Sounds like a lot of beautiful work passed through him and he liked what he did. Even though, I didn’t know him personaly, it say’s a lot about who he was. This is a nice picture to remember.

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