Yes, Life

I will take you in my palms again.

With tears and ashes for potter’s slip

I will mould you, taking on a softer form

and a steadier gaze, 

I will look into your face,
your moments of joy,

your seasons of disgrace, 

and I will learn to love you.

Your light and shade, your wrinkled brow,

your stinging blows that wind me now,

your smiling eyes, your heavy head,

the moments I’d sworn you’d left me for dead,


I will love you. 

Until one day when tears cease,
the potter’s wheel no longer turns,

and I see you in your wholeness.

My hands COVERED 
in the drying clay of decades,

fingers worn almost to the bone, 

ready to let you dry in your full shape

and return to the ground

as the ashes we scooped together

all those years ago.

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