I Am Painting the Past

I am painting the past In a bottle of glass, Sailing slowly Across the town. It's the river of life With its crystalline Waves of sorrow Out of the mind. Now I look at the eye, The eye of time, And I see The tears of the sky. It's the sigh of the years And broken wings. Can it take us to a better Real? I am thinking again Of a flower bed We were making along the Way. Now I think it's now, But I don't know. Have we a chance To get to the door?