Poem On: Day 15

Golduck (#055)

The awful strength of thought
is overrated. The diamond
blade behind my eyes
crushes pretenders, ships
thoughts like a schoolboy
guilty note across deskrows.
Tricks. Light through a gem
tells you the cutter’s skill but
mostly a miner’s luck. Give me
water. Give me that stage
where bizarre plays
for elegance. The way light
murmurs at motion.
Where all this thinking drowns
for a moment, and gravity
is held in contempt.