"I cannot walk an inch without trying to walk to God. I cannot move a finger without trying to touch God.
Perhaps it is this way:
He is in the graves of the horses.
He is in in the swarm, the frenzy of the bees.
He is in the tailor mending my pantsuit.
He is in Boston, raised up by skyscrapers.
He is in the bird, that shameless flyer.
He is in the potter who makes clay into a kiss."
For Karen who turns love into stone
Then stone into love
Then love into a kiss
Then a kiss into a memory
Then a memory into a life together.
This spring we will finally turn the old garage into a new pottery studio.