Full title: Excerpts from the Grimoire of a Goldsmith of Antiquity

From the flecks of future-past
surrounding me, I choose
the brightest and the smallest
with a set of calipers so fine
and movements so precise
you’d think to look at me
that I am doing nothing.

From these flecks of choice
and possibility, arrangements
sort themselves in order
more or less of cells
to dust, to nugget, leaf
and palaces, creating worlds
and galaxies and still beyond,

You’ve found my world,
I see, else you’d have
carried on diminishing
and wearying, forging
leaden boots instead of
gold to plod through life,
confusing weight and density
with what shines pure, and
selling specks of hope mashed
in with heaviness, to every
questing soul who chances
to sit by you for a spell.

Be calm. Your saving
grace and I have talked
for aeons, and we’re very
nearly through the binding
and completion of this book—
a fleck or two of space,
and not another
word will do.


© Elaine Stirling, 2014