THE JOY OF THE JOURNEY

I centered the clay
and turned the wheel
to center myself and feel
connected to the earth
like soft rain on sandstone,
to forms and shapes
that no one sees but me.

A piece of porcelain
for a potter to throw
might grow to be an
elegant bud vase,
home to a single stem
and a solitary rose,
unless it chose
beneath sensitive fingertips,
to be a Japanese tea bowl
or a goblet
for vintage wine.

Only choice can redefine
in the fullness of time
our place in space.
Life flows
through our hands,
if we so choose,
like a river with no end,
or we lose
its meaning
or just pretend.


"To pass through is just not enough,"
she said.

The final destination
for artistry and me,
even in my poetry,
is gratifying,
but insignificant
in comparison to the joy
of the journey
in a world of wonder,
as limitless
as the human imagination.

Either we are the sculptor
or the sculpted.
The writer
or the footnote.
We were born
to create numerous moments,
wondrous moments,
not the same moment
numerous times.

"Enjoy the journey with me,"
she said.

Become the possibility.

© JOHN PISCATELLA