In this desert, glass
turns
perfect. All
harshness, raining on it,
grinds away
every jag and nodule;
none of it is blank.
As it ages, it
purples;
even the black,
volcanic glass, chonchoidal
sharp, eventually
dissolves,
becoming as deep
a pool
as a pupil opening
into
an iris.
~Stephanie Strickland
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