Nigredo (The Precondition for Circumstance)

When I first discovered fire, I named it Alchemy.

Burned my body more times than I care to remember,

so many times, in fact, I’m now Black by blood.

When I close my eyes I can see outer space.

Poured mercury into my fists and stretched the skin

of my chest to beat a little light out of the moon.

I call the bruises constellations.

Yesterday I learned shadows ain’t always black,

so my teeth and tongue went spiraling down

my throat looking for a reason as to why.

I believe language is a miracle of magic,

the thumbprint of God, cast a spell and word

becomes object, though the closest I’ve ever

got to God was through silence. What’s really

incredible is knowing how much a color costs,

only to remember the means by which we died.

They mined minerals from our innards to wear

as jewelry. Bought formal tuxedos to wear at fancy

parties. A toast to the pain. Clink of crystal.

Bubbling smiles all around. To hell with all this.

I believe what I believe because it is absurd,

yet death seems the only proof, with all of us

sure to be buried in a yawning grave. How else

could the Earth have grown gold, if not from us?