ELEMENTAL





Is the word the work

Of some elder who quarries

The green mountain

For the hard deposit,

Refines it under black dust

That a bellows blows red,

Hammers it to a wafer

On the white anvil

Until it can carry its own loss,

The anger of the withering fire,

The unstruck echo of the mountain,

Yet succumb to breath

Like pollen to the breeze?

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