O Potter
you reach
into the
earth so bare,
to find your
image there,
in the substance
of your earthenware.
You knead the clay
from day to day,
shaping and forming
in different ways,
to find that perfect clay.
The clay must yield,
but not completely.
It must resist,
but not entirely,
to the fires
of eternity.
O Potter
sitting at your
treadle wheel,
shaping and forming
to what you feel,
the motion of time
will never be still.

1989 Jim Cain