There is always more to the story:
the continuation of the world.
The potter, with a slip of his hand, surprised
to see his vision altered,
decides how to account for this change,
wondering, with this slip, if his work is destroyed.
This lump of kinetic energy not destroyed,
yet not the same, tells of a different story.
The potter spins his wheel of worlds,
spinning, spinning, and raises his head in surprise
as his vision reshapes, though time is not altered:
it moves onward and onward, heedless to change.
He looks at his work, his hands, their lines of change,
his fingers, square with purpose, unable to destroy
the sinews of blood and sweat that hold his story
together. He places his hands on the wheel of his world,
on his creation. With new eyes, it is a surprise,
a revelation. He spins and spins and alters
and alters and in this act of altering,
gives new form, new life to this change,
to this act of creation that cannot be destroyed.
He molds the ridges and grooves of his story
showing new dimensions, new light on his world
with his hands, with his wheel, that surprises
him. In his spinning and spinning he had forgotten that such surprises
exist. With new hands, he spins anew, open to the alterations,
as heedless as time, called change.
His hands, his wheel, creating what cannot be destroyed
in the spinning of this tale, his story,
allows him to create his new world.
Time and time spins this world:
that it continues, heedlessly on, is no surprise.
It is for the potter to sculpt, to alter,
to work with his hands for purposeful change,
to spin on with his creations that cannot destroy
the sinews of blood and sweat that make his story.
The surprises that change how
we spin our stories remind us:
“Worlds are altered rather than destroyed.”
(Democritus)
