Potter
At the edge of the village we arrived at the half lit
house with a small yard and bloomed jasmines.
The air smelled of love undone as if all evil was
forgiven. Before we entered we heard the potter’s
wheel singing circular notes and joyous messages
that with intensity reflected on our wild youth.
Methodically the wheel transcended mud into exquisite
vessels. Palms pressed, fingers morphed birds and
miracles; suddenly the world gained its meaning like
the sun in the thought of a cloudy day.
An amphora, a cylix, and Übermensch closed the blinds
so creation wouldn’t escape. His movement as easy as
the potter’s. Two Übermenschen and a hovel full of
beautiful words.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 