Shards /13
The one act
within which tomorrow
could tell her story
was just the beginning
of the other stories she
told, of the other stories
she would live through
to the dawn she knew so well.
She was there to teach.
On the other side of the
valley of time her friend
yesterday lifts his drowsy
head from the pillow of
now, yawns sleepily
and goes back to
the dreams from
which he came. He
knows too well the
changes of chance.
Evening settles over this
quiet town. It also
knows a tale or two, and
the time when we will
sleep doesn't even look
up as she passes me on
her dark way home.
13.
This jar is one of my own creations, owing a tremendous debt to the old potters of the "Casas Grandes" style of the Southwest and Mexico. One anomaly I've never been able to understand is how those old Ceramicists, firing with wood fire kilns, don't get smoke blacking. My jar was fired in an electric kiln. The original artists mush have used Saggars to insulate the pot from the smoke but no one has ever fond a saggar at an old kiln site, or even much of a sign of firing at these sites. No matter who you are, or how you fire a kiln, there should be a big pile of fired clay shards discarded near the kiln, as kiln shards (pots broken in the firing process) are a simple result of the kiln use. So, what gives? More mysterious is the incredible workmanship, use of materials, and incurable piece of art that has survived the test of time. Could those surface designs actually be some sort of an ancient poem?
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