Monday, December 15, 2014

Absinthe 10

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



No comments: