your humor is clay
it’s thick and often dark
fun to grasp
naturally occurring
unpredictable yet familiar
something that delighted me as a child
and has only become more precious now
as we grow taller
as the nostalgia grows thicker and
as the time carved out for such things
grows shorter and thinner to match

your humor is clay
and i miss laughter
i fear that if i took time
for sculpting pots now
i wouldn’t remember how
to make everything symmetrical
i fear my pots
would look like tears
and yours would still
look like suns