A KIND OF BEAUTY

Weighed up with care as if ounces of gold,
And tested between teeth to taste truths untold,
And wrapped in their kin – all the better to mark,
To mould and to prick distant minds in the dark –
They pierce screens and parchment in pixels that stand
And curl in oases to quench the dry sand:
A desert awaiting the grave, hackneyed quest
To gather love letters in words that serve best
Yet puncture a realm that is blameless, concealed
In its emptiness, voiceless, until they’re revealed.
Like Eden I fall in a trap to define
What dwells and wells within. Yet with every line, 
King Midas clothes Eros, and sparkling desire
Breathes life into language – for testing in fire.

– Rita Glennon