For You, Golden One

Oro! Aurum! The warning’s in the root.
Pity the alchemist romancing lead –
I’m not the first to throw my back out
Trying to move some immovable thing.
It was the key limes and that cart of stone,
A supermarket Stonehenge, would-be throne.

The true center? A cart of coquina,
In the city of poured concrete castles.
Sandcastles, really, full of cracks and shells.
It was silent and secretive as death,
Implacable as an Easter Island head.
I married that rock, by pain we were wed.

Agony is the accretion of self,
A condensing into this one moment.
It is how the universe always feels.
I know, because the starfish galaxy
Of tendons behind my right hip told me.
Pain substantiates alchemy’s ley lines.

The heavy cart did not move at all.
Even on wheels, that much weight does not flow.
I had no good answer to your question,
just this sudden freedom, explosive snap.

The starfish arm, from its own body ripped,
is neither lead nor gold, but Mobius Strip.

January 2016

Back to the Bone Pile