Glimpse at a flashing diamond
gripped by gold eccentric
but we must work other stone
crude, rough: solid basalt
forged four billion years ago
near the galactic cauldron of our sun

We orbit the mass
study every surface
to discern
the hint of sprouting soul within
we are so young
our hands, hammers, chisels and eyes

The hammer swings
cycles repeat until
rain and ice and wind and waves
and our own chisel and mallet
hands callused and bleeding
pain in our fists
and in our eyes
strike off a wrong chip here
a right one there
chip too much here, too little there
perfection is at best an accident.

Finally old hands tap ever more gently,
old eyes work by touch
the artist spirals close
sees deep within the ever
adamantine basalt
diamond, pure cut.


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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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