IF THERE’S FIRE IN YOUR DIAMOND
If there’s fire in your diamond
and there is, sometimes people
will turn their hearts into fire hydrants
and come running to put it out
as if fire were their worst emergency.
What the fools don’t know is
that when the diamonds get hot enough
they flow like liberated mirrors
through the dry creekbeds
longing like oases in a desert of stars
for the next flashflood of light.
And they taste of eyes
that have looked at the moon a long time,
and ravens of coal
that were jewelled by their clarity
deep in the igneous snakepit of oceans
that move creatively under us
trying to make the pieces fit
like the continental plates
of a shattered skull
that has mellowed into a jigsaw puzzle.
Listen to me, babies; listen now.
This is a school of rogue stars,
sabres of light that flash like fire
off the windows of your waterjewel
like translucent insights at a glance
that add themselves like eyes to the shining.
Return what you see to the seer
and everything will become