Today is yesterday’s tomorrow.
Its clay now soft. Warmed. Calling.
Waiting for the strong supple fingers
of my heart, my mind, my spirit
to work their magic once again.
Beckoning this never-before me,
the one I will become today,
to sculpt even as I am being sculpted,
to create even as I am being created,
to trust even as I am being entrusted
with so soft and wondrous a gift
as this clay we call life.
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