sugar and salt

I have delighted

to eat the stone,

the pink salt mined

in the Himalaya

I’ve not yet kissed

the Blarney Stone,

but I wonder if

my gab is a gift.

Or mere grist to be

ground in the mill

between the stones

of mind and soul.

The bones of this

world, gathered

and piled ready

for angry hands

to cast at the woman

who slept with one

who was forbidden.

Until they were stayed.

Deep in the heart

of mountains, the soul

of primordial forest

and fen, the coal

waits for the fire of

power and industry.

waits to blacken

the lungs of the men

who drill it and blast it

and haul it up from

its ancient grave

for the furnace.

One grain of sand,

perhaps from

a favorite beach,

trapped in a shoe

can be a torment.

Ten thousand grains

of sugar, a teaspoon,

a delight not unlike salt.