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This is a poem about making things. I wrote it for some friends of mine who are always making beautiful things. I wanted to create something for them in return and this is all I can make!


Yacht_at_mooring_wood_blockby athena kathy01 Jan 2016

Many things go in the pot
To simmer: the things you got
Last night… Leaves like embers
Still burning through December drizzle,
Cushions of moss,
From a lawn criss-crossed
With trails
Left by garden birds
Out for snails and worms.

The alchemist’s words
Were written in a book,
Each page
Turned anew:
A hundred lines
Each said a million times
By moon and stars
Still the magic always failed
To light the spark.
And nothing changed.

But the lily leaf picked in the dark
Garden just before the rain
The silver bark
Like a page already made
The frayed hosta blade
Or the acer leaf
About to turn
They all go in the pot
To be stirred, or burned,
In this way
Clay or
Leaves or
Grass or
Any of those simple things
Now cold now warm
Now gold
Burnished into something new
And taken from the forge
Too hot to hold.