Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Jan. 3, 2012 Firing




My kiln bulges, recent works,
Boxes, bowls, and small figures.
Shino platters, tea-cups sure,
Poetry, shards, and raw sculptures.
A firing packed with experiments,
Successes, failures, accidents.
I make of clay a small kiln God,
Soon I'll the turn the pilots on.

Wolves


Through the snow I circled back,
Then saw below that wolfen track,
His mate had joined him further on,
To follow me and spy upon.

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