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 light--catch light! That cry-- annihilation made, outbound forever till it hits your eye and ends, a green glow, all you see, extinguished starlight, starlight only. Focused by stone, cleaved, bruted, brilliant-cut. No stone like that exists, before 1600. No stone like that exists, before 1600. No world--until us--in chains of glass, hostage to signal:
To Be Here as Stone Is

                                                              M.D. Coverley

                                                              Stephanie Strickland