Poetry: The Coppersmith

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I knew you before, when you were as tight

As a pale tulip on a cold spring day,

When your dreams were of diamonds, when you saw

Nothing in my eyes but blank, dark walls.

I knew you again and I could see you

Crawling to the edge, straining hard to stand,

Legs wobbling, turning for encouragement,

Finding faint expressions of sympathy.

It was only after the coppersmith

Helped you discard the crystalline defects,

Moved you from blinding heat to shocking cold,

And gave you permission to choose your form

That the beauty emerged and in my eyes

You beheld mirrors instead of spotlights.

© 2011 Robert Morrow

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