THE CIRCLE IS ASSEMBLED

From 'Glass'Making':

We suspect its obsidian heart has a clear fist,
and there's a frightening risk to hunt for the blood within.
Vitrification is an honorable revenge,
like a woman with her knees drawn tight,
a soft crease between her legs filled with hard language.

...Fondling glass, like we do a face,
catching the slow drip of glass on a punte stick,
we are compelled to ignite it with our form, our breath,
the curve of our heart, we are compelled to embrace it,
to imagine how it would slide down our hips,
probing with its tongue our tongue.
In the end we discover it bends to our will,
cutting corners, stealing and lying for us,
believing we will protect it, give it refuge,
and love it, and keep it safe. Always.

From 'Epitalamion':

Like glass blowers who tease and pucker
the hot flesh of glass, the earth's crust
pulses with drapes of swollen roots.
They hunch and spurt, popping out like
an explosion of chanterelles, flirting their markings.
Underground, roots curl into happy chaos.
mandrake and trillium loop their way up
twisting on pockets of stone. Adders and violets
knife through blood-root and bracken.
Crateorellis spins an enzyme thread
down into the tangle of dirt,
through a crazed rush of ginger, the thunder of sumac.
It's close to anarchy - ...................