Manifested perfection
is this pink rock crystal
with its satellites and moons
frozen in time.

There is a miniature mountain to climb
with slopes that shale at different
points and at the peak
a trail of bubbles hang suspended in the air -
the spirals growing there can
reach to God, pierce his thought,
and as it turns and turns in the hand,
the scene changes to whorls of
green and blue and pink,
white-streaked crystals billow
and blend, intent upon their
inward coherence.  They rest content.  

The whole is the key:
made up of diverse parts independently
individual, its gullies, crags and chasms,
sheer rock faces,
all scaleable.  

This miniature world 
of perfect pink in the hand
is a God's-eye-view:
follow its spiral, 
and you draw your gaze upward to
a place untroubled, 
a place where one scales heights
with the eyes
rather than trying the climb.

The perspective, the shapes and the perfection
are mine.  This is a picture of
my life's terrain, of how far
I've come
and what I left behind.
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