Upon the turning wheel

Upon the turning wheel

Silken white and wet with clay
Delicate fingers cover the softened form of day
Like a whisper it molds the breath of life

With sculptures hands on a turning wheel it brings a form to life
Passing through the gardens gate which scatters wet of moistened
Hue gathered from its moving sway beyond the dreams of Child's play

Blow scented winds that leave no trace upon its sacred trace
Glazed in white fingertips embrace to shape it all depends

Amidst the shadow it dances
in the music of melting streams of morning dews
The silence of the lotus opens to their mystic trance
Beyond the time of space and chance

Centered in the ever now
The universal spirals travel round and round
and keeps its balance on stable ground