Sunday, March 27, 2011

March 22 - Malachite

O basket of beads fallen
from broken thread, you
weigh on me, make your
presence imperative.

You are richer than jade;
your deep greens, your
swirls, create a map
a heavy legacy.

They say you are worn
to detect impending danger.
Where were you when I lived
in your country of origin?

They say gazing at or holding
you relaxes nerves, calms
stormy emotions, gives
patience. I found you too late.

Are you as clever a conductor
as your companion, copper?
Then take my regrets, replace
them with power to forget.

Only then will I pick up
needle and waxed thread
re-invent your beauty from
nothing but each single bead.

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