Life Is What? Poem by Mark Heathcote

Life is what? A ball of clay
punched and softened
spun around and moulded
kiln-baked every single day
till its final shape is, fashioned
or it cracks and explodes—
it's in your hands how it's finished
how it's used and glazed
every pot is made, with love
but not all vessels contain it.
Some flaws we can work upon
others are too ingrained.
All pots will be made-clay again
it's the way of every container
it's the way of every retainer
that everything put in, took out is, repaid.