Glass bends,
not with force,
but with memory.

He gathered light
like a jeweler gathers time-
each shimmer
a quiet rebellion
against the ordinary.

Wings,
frozen in flight,
cling to the curve
of a perfume bottle.
A dragonfly
becomes a cathedral.

Nature spoke in whispers-
he answered
with orchids,
with nymphs,
with frost caught mid-fall.

Not ornament,
but echo.
Not luxury,
but reverence.

He did not trap beauty-
he revealed
that it was always there,
waiting
in the translucent silence.