we went to the river
and separated the inseparable
carried a jug of water
to the potter’s wheel, and joined
it again with clay and fire.
we ate drank bathed and loved
in a single plane of meaning
tracing our names on the rivertop
hot and cold, light and bold
she draws upon my tongue.

each pot cast, each new glaze,
tells the story of her fingertips
finger taps in the night,
sending messages along my spine
I see her pots, clay turns into time
I learn and ask, “can this be mine?”

trace of water on a new lip, spinning
her foot taps a beat, fingers
draw a bead into a line, fire
scores a new colour onto clay,
she has stolen the light from day.

I whisper to the wind, “this is mine”
and know it will remember.
Clay into love, she puts me amongst the embers
I know these vessels will outlast time.