Coils of mythology, dough of clay,
the pact made with gods
on mud,
waters of the Sung Valley
shaping the lust and laughter
of these potters.
Stories twine and untwine as
spirals of wet earth are kneaded,
shaped and rolled.
Myths construct themselves
like the birthing of these urns
and vessels, deft hands
printing the metaphors of substance.
Tyrchiang, the wind among your
pines shames me with its
simplicity, I whose roots draw
deep from books to prop up
my tribal bones.
Desmond L Kharmawphlang folklorist, professor, poet and sometimes filmmaker too
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