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In your hands, a potter's wheel,
shaping substance into form
the physics of involution:
broken shards along a
caravan longing a
sweet alchemy, precise
fingers on snow

In the desert bloom.
I weep your nearness.

You have made a fine vessel.

Fill me with sunrise.

Editing stage: 


and 17 months no comment!

Your words are sublime.

Jess, Neopoet Directors
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

Dearest Jess, is it a coincidence that I visit Neopoet an hour after you resurrected a poem from 17 months ago?

I suppose, since I write enough mediocre poems, a once-in-awhile *sublime* poem is a good thing, eh?

Much love, and always be hungry & thirsty enough to write poems.


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