To Grasp A Pale Blue Flame

you and I, you and I,
we’re gonna get fat off this one,
you and I, we’ve got something special in this
heavy canister,
for only fabulous wealth is so secured –
locks indicate laden vaults.
you and I, we’re gonna pry the
lid free,
with screwdrivers and fingernails
if we must, we’ve
got to wiggle and wrench the
lid, there, now it’s moving, and inside –
what a glow! a pale blue,
like smokeless fire,
not burning, but warm,
and all this from a can,
well, go on,
pour it out, let us look upon our claim and
smile triumphant,
let us strain our minds at the calculus of such
fine figures,
perhaps jewels, perhaps the magic that makes
some men kings is contained, perhaps, but
go on, pour it on the floor.

Ash? Dust? Sand? This is all?
and yet it glows, like nothing
that exists or should exist,
and yet it glows inviting,
promises of weal and woe
and how it warms us,
these promises, these
strange grains, how much
do you think they’ll sell for,
If we can bear to part with them?

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