upon the table it sits
with weight of aged cities...
briefly upon glass it sits
although fluttering wings
shall sweep it away in a glance...
it sits in eternal peace
the body bellows out to
its wide open mouth
colored in envy and ash
to persuade passers by
from their journeys in similar vessels
to pause...
to peer over the edge...
to succumb to the curiosity
of the brim's luring seduction
the glazing, the crazing
the raku-fired splattering of hues
one could fall inside
and find oblivion, perhaps...
or perhaps not
after all it's just a pot
No comments:
Post a Comment