hot from 2200 degrees
malleable to tool
blown softly and turned--
found
speckled and expanded--
clipped
dripping with promise
bubbling bloodred
dreamed into form
delicate gloved hands
use fire for detail
breathing in uniqueness
shifting intensities
keep the cooling happening--
slow
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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