he'll mold her, yes, from the
clay dug out from a river
bank, the birds calling, each
to each, as he forms her, feet
first, then the lithe limbs that
may carry her away from him,
some hollows, too, in the palm of
her hand, so she may offer him
water, when he thirsts, the shells
of her ears, porcelain, translucent, listening,
always, but only after she has been twice-fired,
vitrified, this self-made woman
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