Corrugated tiles full on into the sun
Out of the earth as clay, crushed to dust
Pressed then dressed, fired to a thousand degrees
Now covered in frost, a nice finishing touch
Beyond the ridge, your curtains unopened
Your door with its security chain in place
The still air, unable to tap on your window
Warm breath floats, out among the coldness
The return journey is always a treasure
To settle into warmer skin with drowsy conversation
Home from the night shift, today the kilns are empty
The factory gates closed, one last time
Dust sits on the unfinished wares
The green clay waits
Tonight, and forever
I am hopeful to stay with you
