Utensils.

Today's Poem-A-Day:

Utensils
Richard O. Moore

An available palette thickened by air
words I hold and so fast lose.

A thunder so low       an inaudible present       its slow
cycles place me shaking in its throat.

Stare       and beauty opens like a work of fire
a made thing       a connection must be made.

This is to say necessity is a place made all of stares
come beauty       come the final ruin of the world. Stop   :

for what it may be       or was       a burned-in-after-flash of fire
over distance measured light years. The glamour of it all.