Monday, October 20, 2014

How to sharpen a knife

The desert gleams seamlessly, the invisible
edge of a properly sharpened knife, drag it slow
across your thumbnail and feel the catch.
I watch the heat climb against the current,
returning to the refined truth of a purely
empty sky.

With circular motion grind against the clock, an
impossible repetition of lessening. The stone wearing
into an organic curve oily fingers caress. Like reading
the decay of a radio isotope or the meaning of a mountain
to the evening breeze. The long shadows of nighthawks
are miles away and still as hungry. The earth is fickle
and sometimes curves away.

The creases on the note you left are not hinges so
it stays folded in my wallet. A certificate of
authentication; some kind of proof I was wealthy
once. I have faith the gold will not blur or the edges
will not thin into air. There is a curl of steel that
must be broken off. Drag it along the strop until it
is keen. Drag it long, it will be keen



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