Absinthe 10

In this desert,

glass turns perfect.

All harshness,

raining on it,

grinds away

every jag and nodule;

none of it is blank.

As it ages,

it purples;

even the black,

volcanic glass, chonchoidal

sharp, eventually

dissolves,

becoming as deep

a pool

as a pupil opening

into

an iris.

~Stephanie Strickland