The Potter's Wheel

I've put love on a potter's wheel and applied it with a sprinkling of words. Shaped terracotta like a goldsmith, held their bars, their molten innards. Their bodies are ingots, shimmering. Pictures framed, with a touch of gold leaf till like the climbs of a silver moon they're etched in a hoary cloud's relief. Sculptured like melting snow I've felt their pearls slip back on the necklace. And like a tree of blossom all are swept into an ocean, powerless to return Like a vessel smashed into a million pieces. Where somewhere in the distance another potter's hands with reverberating laughs goes about reshaping every grain of sand in the hourglass in prayer sits smoothing vessel upon vessel once ruined in too pure a light.