Clay, Verse Concrete Options

[Sekhmet]

Clay

A dark, dank,

brackish, fungal smell of

river banks; and dying things

drifting deep; and sleeping in the

restlessly slow undertow. Rotating

down and around, into the ever flowing

river's vastness. Slowing at last to rest.

Forming a bed of dead, red-brown clay,

so silently - awaiting the potter's hand

to take, initiate and fatefully shape it.

Create in his charcoal furnace, what?

A thoroughly ingenious, curvaceous,

and graceful; sublimely wasteful,

giant terracotta pot.