“Its glaze is gradual, from blue to green,
with none of its fired brown clay visible,”
he would have written in his journal
if he’d remembered to bring it along.
He attempted to focus his attention
on some of the other antiquities
exhibited there for his perusal
on the shop’s display case glass.
But the crucible, which might have held
an emperor’s ashes ages and ages ago
—or might someday hold his own—
refused to relinquish its command.
Its perfectly ancient sheen, reflecting and
amplifying the shopwindow’s meager
almost-evening sunlight, called out:
Choose me. Choose me. Choose me.
dVerse Poets Pub
Meeting The Bar
Personification & Imagery