- Alvin Thomas Ethington
empty chair
displays lakeside home
hungry ghosts
- Sharon Rizk
Dividing Clay
No thing.
No time.
No space between.
You, cradled in my mind,
a shape still wet, not knowing.
My index finger glides around your rim,
slips down your inward curve and stops
abrupt
or I would drown.
Others will come later
to fire,
to paint,
to fill,
to want.
But I will always be your first encounter,
before utility or beauty or longevity
change you into precious and
a thing.
Apart.