Bead

 

Fact, impacted
in a grainy dark

that sets it,
ingrows round its edges,

an antique silver frame
or the idea of silver,

tarnish like a brilliance
we might not care to face

and the bead might be little
or nothing – neutral

clearness – that picks up
this throwaway datum and that

and hangs it in the black
of space and is a world
.

 

 

RETURN

 

Poems © Philip Gross