For Jack T.

     

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                   A Chunk Of Amethyst

     Held up to the windowlight the amethyst has elegant

corridors, that give and take light.  The discipline of its

many planes suggests that there is no use trying to

live forever.  Its corridors become ledges, solidified

thoughts that pass each other.

     This chunk of amethyst is a cool thing, hard as a

dragon's tongue.  The sleeping times of the whole

human race lie hidden there.  When the fingers fold the

chunk into the palm, the palm hears organ music, the 

low notes that make the sins of the whole congregation

resonate, and catches the criminal five miles away with

a tinge of doubt.

     With all its planes, it turns four or five faces toward

us at once, and four or five meanings enter the mind.

The exhilaration we felt as children returns....We

feel the wind on the face as we go downhill, the sled's

speed increasing...

---Robert Bly