#10 summer solstice 2013

Last night I dreamed about stacking the kiln. In my dreams I knew what pots I wanted where and in which orientation. Sometimes stacking the kiln is like an open book, and other times it feels like all the pots are wearing disguises. It poured rain and I was thankful we have a roof that covers us from studio to kiln. The humidity was like an animal under the table, furry and panting.

What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
a face, a room, an open book
and these things bear our names --
now they want us.
But what we want appears
in dreams, wearing disguises.
We fall past,
holding out our arms
and in the morning
our arms ache.
We don't remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day
as an animal is there
under the table,
as the stars are there.