culminates in night-skies on Neptune, Earth as it sweeps by, or is swept--it depends where you are--by schools of light, loose, adrift in the empty aisles of the cosmos: this, their care--the artisans--their persistent reverence for error, mis-fit; fabulists of silica, water, what we are, glassware, charcoal, starlight only; forgers of green, translucent stones that are the structure of all question.  Gloss of green on a stone--Cold waterfall, a ripple down the uneven globe of this tiny amphora, this ampoule for perfume scored by a comb in the molten bottle: fountain strands of sea-green jade and sea-light opal in sheaths of fire remelt, re-fuse to new luster in which bubbles shift and drops of vapor, sealed in glaze, at each angle catch

aisles of the cosmos:

this, their care

--the artisans--their

persistent reverence for error,