Intrinsic Worth

A poem is unsalable.
It can’t perform a single task.
Don’t ask it to tell a story
It will lead you on an odyssey.
Don’t ask it to light a fire,
It might just start an inferno.
Don’t ask it to build a birdhouse,
It’ll sing like the head of a nail.
Don’t ask it to seal a sundeck,
It would rather rot in the rain
And leap from the sun.

Ring Boxes

With miniature gold latches
Engraved for treasury doors of diminutives,
You open them after many years,
All that’s left are rings of dust, a teardrop of light.

All that’s left is a tiny cleft,
A soft bed where a pearl was bled,
And a mirror under the lid
Which opens like its own jewel.