Your hands
caress the clay

it dances
to your fingertips

begs for shape
& form.

It seems as if
you create
the empty inside
first

the wet clay
waltzing with the wheel

curves that
can hold

nothing &
anything at all.

You smile.

Tell me the emptiness
is never empty.

It holds
what is to be.

It holds
the memories of wine

the thirst of water

the emptiness
is only

the something that
hasn’t happened
yet.

Years later
I still hold

those curves in my hand

the emptiness of you
gone

still filling up
my mind.

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-thirst-of-water/