From the explosion to the iron split,
from the crevice to the road,
from the quake to the fire,
to the turning, to the river,
that heart of sky-water, heart of gold
stayed still
and each vein of jasper or sulfur
was a rush, was a wing,
was a drop of fire or of dew.
Does the rock live without moving or growing?
Does the marine agate really have lips?
I will not answer because I cannot:
so it was, the churning genesis
of glowing and growing stones
that live on, ever since, in the cold.