TO THE/FOR THE BURNING
The ancient iron lash upon the
seashore washed - caught and
burned in fire. The clay from
inland soil as well, this fine
fire-strengthened heap has
congealed. I now have my
iron-seashore lance and some
stranded cups to drink from.
My new potter's clay is dreamy.
Just upland, there, I think I shall live.
-
I will stay in place. I will remain.
Forested here, I will no longer find
myself fragile and porous and -
though alone - I will have my shadow.
To love another, you need another.
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