Diamond

We’ve cut pieces of the earth up as stars,
a great pretending where each outstretched hand
is a stand-in for the sun. Watch how the
flowers grow as we pass our thin fingers
over them; see the petals drink in our
life, green all around and through, down to the
roots; admit you feel the warmth that breathes out
from this fist, pulsates with each cold hand shook.
And like the stars it is born from blackness,
cast out from nothingness by nothingness,
an entity existing to exist.
We wear rocks that cannot smudge, with no grime
or dust ever upon them, though still they
dirty our hands even as they light them.

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