I met my kinswomen last night.
Or… was it a dream?
Twas all mirth and warmth –
Life, for an instant, as I wished.
My hands shook at every stroke,
In typical acrylic innocence.
“Think nothing of it,” they said,
“You judge yourself too harshly.”
But, yesterday’s gone, and I, in wonder,
Say “maybe it was all fantasy.”
It’s grey today and perhaps,
Not a chance for tomorrow.
But I think not!
For I walked away with the promise
Of a rendezvous at the potter’s house –
The potter of Grand Barachois.