In the Hall of Minerals
Exposed, in polished-agate cuts—
sawn open like a patient’s chest—
the geodes spill their lovely guts
under hot lights on airless shelves.
They bare all. This elucidates
the natural history of ourselves:
The granite faces. The resolve
that cracks. The glittering release
to someone’s diamond-bladed touch.
The not knowing till then how much
openness
we might survive.