Crumbs of The Mind The Potter Creating form from thought, hands of the potter caress wet clay, seeing yet creation as it was in the mind, wet and soft against his knowing fingers. She takes a form. In silence, they touch. Hands penetrate clay's center and she grows hollow Possibility of new heights comes with the thinning of her walls. Gentle still, he caresses, hands now covered in her. He has given a part of his own soul to bring form to life. Come into being now, she caresses his heart. Sweet wine of him into the chalice, they drink, ghost of their lips existing in the same space. Form and thought blur, potter and clay both chalice and wine. And in this world they exist.
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