how does one pull gold
from the cracks of a mended vase,
beautiful veins welding shards together?
not without open-eyed coldness;
not without violent fire and crucible
melting that which binds the whole
leaving pieces scattered upon the ground
dark, dead payment of demanded toll
then greedily gathered and hoarded
like the fillings of Auschwitz
to be used in the purchase
of proxies for joy

how does one take a once broken treasure
made whole by the work of human hands,
and pry it slowly, insanely asunder?
not without cold-hearted brutality
sending creation into a furnace
while watching them melt apart
from the heat of soulless need
to be pried later from the frozen earth
like the fillings of Auschwitz