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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Pot for Grain in a Museum

joins life
in its grave.
So are the hands
that smoothed
the curvature of a pot.
A shadow
finding a body
in the sculpture
of an artist.
She unearthed her pyramid,
a sepulcher
for her grain,
to make loaves
over a fire.
Never knowing
her monument
would be her pot
on a column of marble,
her delicate soul
asleep inside.

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