Annealing
If I were a lump of virgin Keweenaw copper
A shining orange nugget embedded in hard quartz
Extruded with molten rock thrust through fissures
From the depths of this grim and obdurate Earth
You could hammer me to conform to a pattern
Of your pleasing, or heat me in your immaculate forge
And plunge me in your cooling fount one time
And again, that I would be tempered, not brittle
Under the reworking and shaping to your purpose
But I am not malleable, my spirit is a living thing:
Wood. In the waters, I am wave-jounced and spun
By eddies. In the fires, I am consumed.
June 30, 2009
Brad said
Thanks for visiting the Cafe and saying hi, Ray. This piece really captured my imagination. Very powerful.
Ray Sharp said
I linked you on my blogroll at right. I hope that’s okay
Brad said
Am very honored to be there. Thanks.