I’ve been searching for one word to describe the texture of light that comes through antique windows. You know, the kinds of windows that look like a tile of clear, cold river. I searched through glassmakers' trade articles and the websites of reclaimed window dealers. I'm certain there is one word that means what I want it to mean and it is the key to unlock this poem. If I could find it then I'd have a great poem - a real dream of a poem - let me tell you. But I didn’t find it. First, I put "mullioned", then I replaced it with “marbled”. But even now, weeks away from that poem, the insufficiency of that substitute still rankles me. But I found other words along the way. "Annealed". "Incalmo". "Millifiori". And each of them are their own kind of key for a poem or a story that I haven't met yet. Someday, they will be the perfect word, and I'll be lucky to have them.