The Maker in her Workshop

A room beyond darkness,
where generous energy conceives
a life after clay

the kiln stands for a womb
where twisted shapes are
fired into life

I stand beside the door and watch
the elemental shaping,
the strictures of your being,

and in the northlight progress
as the spirals of your works ascend,
count down the aching hours

dwelling on the threshold,
I hang between the fiery air
and the auguries of spring

the door to summer opens,
your son and daughter
come running in.

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