The messenger assigned to comb the shore,
and carefully select the perfect sand,
invested half an eon in the chore,
and filled the holy bucket with her hand
until she had the quantity she sought,
and bore it to the purifying flame,
and while it cooked to clarity, she wrought
from Lilith’s rib a handle and a frame.

As grains of sugar melt to caramel,
so golden sand was altered in the heat
until it flowed translucent in a spell
of metamorphosis, and to complete
the magic gift, she mined some mercury,
pursuing metal slippery and round.
She caught it in its toxic levity
and laid it superficially profound
to make a backing silvery and bright,
so face of glass admits the eye to see
and back the basis sends the endless light,
reiterating like eternity.

She made the mirror, woman’s task and tool,
and yet the patent-holder is Semuel.