Silver lode

Silverlode the
cold moon metal
trading against
your grain strikes
deep in the heartland,
layer of preciousness
slanting towards the
heart of the rock, do you
feel it there your
silverware, the
lightness of being the
heavenly moon glittering
the beaten ore
fashioned into
brooched stone
clasped against skin
the ancient kin who
fingered it and
loved its shine
dug it with sweat
and bone
the ancient mine
hoard waiting for hands
to fetch it up
to day, face
the sky see
its image written there
passing and re-passing
full and spare
the brilliance of
celestial rock brought
down to earth and
gleaming there.
The Teetering Woman
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