The Clay Game

"Not wrinkling is very good," the
pots say, always burning.
Among the dry crowd, I am such a
painted unbreakable pot.


With you, I am resurrecting under the moon
in the suppleness of fresh warm clay,
while wines are pouring on the starry bowls
and seven heavens have opened, drunk.


The potter's wheel crushes the sheet---
it is sometimes tender during rotation, then it is rough,
and the molding pulls higher, higher, higher...


And, having again not given his dream at night, the
skillfully smeared potter
admires quietly what happened.