Portrait of a Stone

If a sound travels into the scarlet depths of the earth, and births
Frequencies of coddling lights, pods of invariable dearth
Since their crystal origins, seeds and forgings
In thickened steel (the bang clack crack) through which becomes
Glass -- all while the rapids stir the vast reflections of the sun
Into blue simulacrums and golden flues, and the muses
Perched by the splitting rocks -- until dawn falls like a falcon,
Feathers screaming each like a knife through razor air: then the glare
Of beauty blinds, and bindings of adamantine matter, firstling elements
Are wroth. Bear me aloft in soletude of manners, rainbow floods, and glorify the crud
Of mountainous reptilian spines that slither in the liming beck
Of times.