Yesterday evening towards twilight
I met God.
He greeted me affably from his front porch,
Invited me in
And sat me down with a glass of good chardonnay.

Later he led me to the back door
Warning me about the danger of mud on my shoes.
He guided me out onto the porch
And down the muddy path
Through the darkening forest,
Small lights showing the way,
To the locked wooden door of his workshop.

Here he moulded the clay
Pulled from ochre tubes of mud.
He slapped large turd-like globs onto
The wheel, his foot turning reflexively,
His legs and hands held in a perfect symmetry
Of thought and deed,
Feeling the object in his head
Pulling the piece from the crucible of his mind.
Bowl, teapot, unomi, vase and plate
So much, so much more to create.

Out of the clay came a song
And beauty followed on
Burned in the fire.