I measure my wealth
looking at my grains of sand
wondering if the clay
that surrounds it
will keep it together.
I measure the water
a drip, a drip...
should I drop the bucket?...
with a list that I should do?
Swiftly moving to the hands
of someone molding me
slapping, beating, caressing, shaping
all to a rhythm I can't catch
moving to drums
conscious of the sun
drying my dripped water.
My molder releases me
I prey on the mercy of the heat
will the clay be too much?
will the sand be....cooperative?
I'm, placed with others...like me?!
Hmmm...I guess I'm composed....just right...
My brickmaker lays me....
I'm ok with that.
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