This poem was written to comfort a close friend whose husband was bipolar. It was first read at the Austin Poetry Festival in Oct. 2002, and subsequently published in the Feb. 2003 issue of NAME Dallas News Letter.

He sat quietly in the middle
Of the maze of glass and mirrors
Looking out
Many people approached
Tried to find the way in
Left after a confusing turn or two
Some wondered if he was lonely
But took no action beyond wondering
A precious few found the way in
Saw his gentle spirit
As fragile as the glass walls he built
They tried to coax him out into the world
Encouraged him to break down the walls
Walking on broken glass would not hurt
Half so much as staying in there alone
But instead of coming out
He built more walls
Added one-way mirrors
Made it more difficult for the precious few to enter
Then one day
The pain was so great
He could neither come out
Nor continue to tolerate his agony
He smashed the walls
Disappeared from sight
Withoug a good-bye
All that remains
Is the memory
And the words of the precious few
Who tell of a kind but tormented man