An Agate a Day
Mexico makes them, Turkey, Malawi.
They are total revelation. They are like a maze of mind.
Paths and paths into themselves and never too
Interior. My first was dead black, a Brazilian
With mahogany flame — it looks like Ecce Homo,
We laughed, Behold the Man.
Just as long as we don’t cut Agate Head,
I either warned or pleaded. He had arrived
In a box with the others, but different,
A rust-orange nodule like a little swede lantern.
And smiling. It happened this way: we had
Fever and for two weeks, could only watch
Cutting videos. Agates were glowers.
And sometimes stinkers. The earth turns
On a man’s need for gadgets: “I’ve ordered
Us a ten-inch lapidary wheel.”
Finally, after twenty years, a shared hobby!
You see sparks inside as it grinds away.
To anyone who worries about your fingers
— for you are precious —
Tell them it’s a continuous diamond wheel.
The trick is to hold the miracle steady.
We are the first to be seeing this. Ever.
Together. What happened to you?
We croon, after each cut. Hot debate
About formation and flow channels.
Whether forces were let in or out.
The most valuable are the ones
With two eyes and a crystal mouth.
