• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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Segments of Time

I expected diamonds. Not an orange.
The pressure should have yielded an object
to interest Empress Victoria,
not the man from Del Monte.

Yes, I know that diamonds are not
the only fruit of the mine –
but armed with a tangerine,
a lump of coal, and a strip of plasticine,
try asking someone
to marry you for money.

All the same, it just might work for love.
An orange is a jewel –
the transubstantiation happening right now
behind that skin,
as well as four billion years ago
in the dawn of a stellar nursery.

Although an orange doesn't take an aeon
to form out of plankton
as a diamond must compress –
both derive from sunlight,
fugitive at home on our old world.


Segments of Time

This one takes a blade
and the squeeze of my hand
and I can’t remember when I last considered
how the orange and the diamond
come to us by way of death.

I spill the blood
into a jug
and leave it to cool,
this pulp from the heart of a tantruming star.