Where the first slip becomes the spine
In the year of my twelfth summer, the pot fell. We did not sweep. We gathered.
File the shard true. Wrap the wire. Pour the vein.
Masa ground from corn grown in Storm Lake's loam, fired at 1,200 degrees.
Twelve inches down, where the winter root learned to breathe.
Humidity gauge reads 97%. Copper wire runs true. The first slip is the spine.