when the spinning clay
shoots up
between my hands
I squeeze
her neck  up
today
to a svelte long
distance Egret like
Swan elegance
decorate her with fine
fine feathers
filigree
moist
living clay
and grasp her all
between
my
human hands
tenderly
I lost the connection
the feel the fire
but put her in
the kiln
anyways
hoping
to rekindle her memory
that is
after all
art

Solitude I wear
      like a second skin
my biggest weakness
       my greatest strength
   wading through 
quiet and tired 
    in seclusion
 as dawn draws
    her arms around me 
cold       and damp
    like the sea
           with no oil
for my lamp
       to light my way
through another
      dark    and lonely
November day.