Graven
beth Mcdonough
104
Your first line
scarcely breaks the surface –
a long, controlled scratch, bright
through the copperdull. Elicit a curled
waste, finer than a hair.
Cut this quiet mark with care;
you have many more to make.
Some, still thin will curve
as waves, silver manes, skies or perhaps
the deep faceted sharps of stars.
Zig-zags and hatched beds wait to bite
fine enamel fusions – and some
will stand-alone, bold.
You may cut your words.
But first, engrave this whispered line;
this perfect one, this one you almost cannot see.