by Nick Treinen

There are galaxies in these pots,
Says Tom and we watch sparks
Cluster with stars as they whirl
From the chimney with abandon.

Front stoke, side stoke, damper shut
And let elm, cottonwood and pine brew
In a whispering bed of coals that tremble
In wait; the plotting volcanic bowels.

Or is she a dragon? Anagama,
Her gut gorged with pots, breathes out.
Tumbleweeds wither and ashes rustle away.

As the sun rises on the fourth day,
The world stops to let light fill Chino’s plain.
Crickets hold their notes; in their dens
The coyotes are still. No smoke rises.

A lone darkling beetle crawls into sight,
Over the kiln’s arched back
And startles time in motion again.
Front stoke, side stoke, I wipe my brow.


IMG_0586Nick is in his second (and somehow final) year at APU, but is currently spending a semester at Prescott College through APU’s “Eco-League” exchange. During his life in Alaska, Nick has worked as a commercial fisherman, farmhand, garden consultant, carpenter, ski coach and potter and is proud to yet to have a job inside.


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