A Blue of Porcelain
A glaze of spirals decorates the bowl,
its curve of water dimpled to a shoal
of winter sunlight. Fuzzy logic jewels
the rim, its lap and rub of molecules,
until the tongue’s touch hangs in silver blue
and liquids rise to blood the ingénue.
The potter’s seal in bird’s-foot shape, the year
a notch or hitch of knots translated here
in keeping with the fashion for the rare,
the enigmatic borne upon the spare,
provide a provenance of silks and spice
roads inching west to test the artifice.
The willow cages brim with nightingales,
from captive cold the rush to keener scales.
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