Ceramics mimic fragility
In flecks and schisms—
A fake tranquility
That curators ignore;
Faintly glazed wrecked mechanisms,
Crack and roar.
The carver slashes in ardor
Where the thick vines grow,
Smashing to uncover order
In the wood below.
The weaver’s caught a fugitive design,
Has trapped in filigree a swift dissension;
So tethered by the spindle’s merest twine,
Tapestry floats on underlying tension.
The sculptor trains his night vision
On stone deer that marble cats devour,
Asking again at daybreak their decision:
To stay displayed, subdued, another hour.