Absinthe 10

Untitled photo

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


becoming as deep

a pool

as a pupil opening


an iris.

~Stephanie Strickland

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