When the bottle began it was sand, and back then it could be so many things –
dust in the ocean that’s scattered in the sea, or soil for a garden, or something in the carpet or a vacuum machine.
But then it was cast into glass, and the potential narrowed down.
It could still be so many things, though: stained and set in the window of a church, or a set of marbles, or the sculpture of a tree.
And then it was shaped into a bottle, and the options lowered still, and there were so few things, now, that it could ever hope to be –
empty or full or broken, or someplace in-between, but a bottle, still, shard(s) of glass just waiting to shatter and to be seen.
And the bottle wanted to be the sand in the ocean
And the bottle wanted to be the sculpture of a tree
And the bottle wanted to be a bowl and the bottle wanted to be a window which you would look out of, sitting next to me.
And there was a time it could have been any of these things –
But now it was a bottle, and a bottle’s all it would be.