It is crystal the dream and day
after
knowing love.
But
why not ceramic
that holds wine and water
in preparation for solace
and sustenance?
Why not terracotta
for thousands of years
perfect for vessels,
made of the earth,
sign of the village?
Crystal clears and obscures,
stops, splits, and opens light
infinite and fixed
so as the nature of the universe,
mysterious by its own instruction set,
unanswerable — though inert
and living.
(Being, having been, vanished…
and continuing to be)
The day after the crystalline
dream
of love
I seek a pitcher
to store and pour
my water,
that I should not thirst.
That I should see you
when you speak,
speak the universe’s psalms
raining everywhere.
novamartinpoetry.com 