Ceramic: (Lakeshore Reflection)

the lake, stained subtle chesnut
with the sky’s reminiscent breathing,
stirs memory with a calming spoon

pausing to see, I glimpse
the ceramic pots along the shore, mind
carried into the nursery
of time’s children, of fate’s plants

how often solitude’s fingers
dip into older voices
like books of safety instructions,
wanting their wet colors
to come close, or to vanish away

now the resting comes to me
on a lake’s reflection, silence
at last, after so many doors of heightened
whispers in my ears,
and paths through mundane buildings
that dropped no fruit into air

and it feels like peace
met in freedom, the pots
too distant to put voices inside

now, laid to rest
beyond the past’s empty chest,
a new shape arrives
in the trees’ swimming faces


(c) J. Celan Smith