Re-Pottery

He is the potter
after all
so why should I plan
to stay

in the place that I chose
toiled roots
in that hardened pot
of clay?

My branches were few
two or three
and the leaves maybe seven
per span;

comfort I sought but
found it not
in the light from the wall made
by man.

I dreamed of a bigger
place to grow
and a Potter re-potting
my roots

and a thirsty cry out for
drops of life
as the sun beams abide
my fruit.

I awoke to rainfall
words of life
and a curtain torn down to
bring light.

and over me smiling
my Potter
who had tended me all through
the night.

bn