Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Old Poem, New Day: The Crucible

hot from 2200 degrees
malleable to tool
blown softly and turned--
speckled and expanded--
dripping with promise
bubbling bloodred
dreamed into form
delicate gloved hands
use fire for detail
breathing in uniqueness
shifting intensities
keep the cooling happening--
just like Spring--
the in between
makes room for bloom.

I wrote this poem in 2002 in Asheville, NC after spending many hours hanging out at a glass blowing studio downtown.  One day I will learn how to do it myself. 

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