This poem was inspired by the title of a book I saw someone reading while at lunch today.
***
the way is paved with glass
daggers of our own desire
not so we cannot pass
but that we may not
pass without making a sound
(because compost happens)
Books I’m Currently Reading
The Daily Compost 
Wow….brilliant!
Thank you! I suppose I ought to also mention the influence of a sentence I read years ago in The Transitive Vampire (Karen Elizabeth Gordon) and have never forgotten: “The pain was like a pane of glass: she could pass through it, but not without making a certain sound.”