Classic Poem

I think of you drinking, dancing,
unable to sleep, reading until first light,
a blanket drawn around your shoulders,
afternoons, working your wheel until
the time to mingle with true hearts,
raise glasses, hug, laugh,
help as you can.
We are all dying, slower or faster,
but it hurts to watch.
And out of the numb exuberant wreckage of your days
come these raku pots--
graceful open shapes, lines freely
scratched into the clay, deep turquoise,
copper glazes, extravagant, surprised,
too beautiful for tears.