The Melting Pot

Dare you ring the tungsten bell and blink away
To the lost world’s spark in the plum-grey sky.

Dare you melt the tantalum we mined on Mars.
Into a necklace in the shape of a heartleaf vine.

What fuel fed the flame to 5463?

I speak Fahrenheit, you say Celsius.
What alien conversion will marry us?
Our imposturous spy coats are useless.

What amaranth and wolf-kiss orchids have you brought
To wilt my novice faith at the melting pot?