An afternoon of planting
in the raised bed
and I started to return
to the house
Stopping to wash
The soil from my hands
In warm rainwater
Gathered in a tub.
I watched the earth
As fine as silt
Slowly drift through
The waters depth
I washed my hands
In the past
Hands covered
In red and grey clay
In that old wood shed
Of the pottery
Cold water kept to make
Terra sigillata.
