Earth bleeds obsidian,
exhales sunsets and basaltic beaches.
Crystals grow alone into ideal forms
just to cleave into our hands
misunderstood.
We must store this in our pockets,
one broken shard
at a time.

 

ÒÕPoetic ScienceÕ was written after a day in which Jannette Giles and I found ourselves buried in the poetry of volcanoes and rock samples, the same day, by chance, that we both found we were wearing clothes that had pockets sewn shut. We immediately unthreaded them in a crude, thick-fingered but delighted manner and spent the day, both of us, curiously filling our pockets with chilly fingers and picking away stray threads, until we could discern the relationship of hidden pockets in a volcanic world.Ó