The Dilettante’s Lecture
Let me describe to you
what I’m holding in my left hand:
These bright options,
this series of pale promises
to be engaged, these diamonds too small to wear,
glaciers miniaturized by grating time
until they slip and flow
through one subtle fracture in the mind.
I find that in the singular, sand’s pure form,
an incomparable crystal, a sparkling gem
like the verb “to care.”
Dare I add, I prefer it by the handful?
That way there seems to be more.
The trick is to keep it ever moist and malleable,
dampened by an inlet of waves
lapping on the morning shore.
I made a perfect heart and set it out to dry.
And we both cracked, cracked and crumbled
Like a pile of sifted flour
tumbling before the crust.
We blew directionless,
north, south, east, west.
I have here a large bucket of jewelry
awaiting your appraisal. Yes!
I’m consenting to one more test!
You say it’s worthless!
But it started out heavy and grew heavier.
I held it for so long it was beginning to seem real.
That must be good for something.
If nothing else, I’m a perpetual embryo,
both prolific and prosaic,
like dust begetting dust.
Well, there are lots of others, I guess,
it’s just a matter of finding them.
Look here, my friends,
I’m shining again. Listen!
I’m breathing sapphires
and singing of golden shovels.
Kay Weeks, c. 1973 AND POSTED IN 2012...