Full even when it seems not to be:
of light, in day, and day and night,
of air, holding it secretly—
curve of your kneecap, noggin, armpit,
cheek, elbow, bowel, hand,
into which much may be poured
or spooned or spun—half sphere, half moon,
or not quite half—wood or porcelain,
stoneware or steel ellipse, depending
on the angle, or a circle
perfect as potter or carver could find—
the almost perfect, a better vessel
for what’s most precious: shelled beans, butter,
sugar, an egg, salt, water—
Read more from Issue No. 42 or share on X.