Rings in the Furnace

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     Glittering halos ring round their heads. Some are diamond and some are stone, harder and heavier even than hands weighed with blood and boldness to wreck man’s image.

    Diamonds know no death; they know nothing but dust and coal and cold, then pain and pressure and light and laughter. Diamonds know no death, and they may sit on heads of stone pure and purifying. Diamonds know no death, and it is they who pierce the stone. 

Rock cracks and crumbles and the christened fall, but the christened know this heat well, this rolling fire full-folded in liquid gold grace. They do not fear it, they love it, and it receives them rippling like soft silk.

Stone crumbles to steam and nothing is left but the ever-rolling fire, glittering with a thousand rings of calm, cool relief, the christened thrown safe into the furnace.


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