Blue Sturgeon

The courtyard glows a kind of mercury,
As if change and time were liquid, and words
Could break from clouds of language as small beads,

Abundant and maddening, poisonous
If we get under your skin, hard to grasp
As moonlight and the purpose of wanting

To have a purpose, of wanting to live.
We’re not alive, but we’re quick, we’re metal,
We’re water of light, and we transform things.

You believe us, don’t you? Don’t you believe
We could transform the ordinary stone
Of this courtyard in the tourist canyons

That will soon grow dull enough with daylight
And heat, the spin of wheels, the trudge of feet,
To immortal metals, noble monster?