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