What do you want? 

You want to be beautiful? 

Give me your hands. 

I’ll fit them for silver 

And labor and sand. 

I’ll trim down your fault lines 

And paint you in gold— 

And give you the weight 

Of the silence to hold. 

 

You want to be magical? 

Give me your dreams. 

Net me those crystalline 

Trembling things. 

I’ll carve them like gemstones 

And teach them to fly— 

But don’t blame my hands 

When they come home to die. 

 

You want to be brilliant? 

That one is new 

Not what I expected  

From someone like you 

But since you’ve been patient 

And since you’ve been smart 

Come close to me 

And I’ll teach you the start. 

 

You want to be brilliant? 

Give me your nights. 

Give me your failures  

And anger and spite 

Give me your shackles 

And give me your brands— 

And then when the iron glows 

Stretch out your hands 

 

Hammer your past  

Down to carbon and dross 

Fire the furnace 

And count it no loss 

When the faces of yours 

That are dead call your name 

For there is no gold 

Like what’s born of the flame.

​