Stoppered Vessel

I think I am an egg
that something can give birth
from my substance
but in an instant I know
there is no golden sustenance
in my interior
nor the sticky stuff
of transparent nutrient
instead
I am a pottered vase
painted with homespun glaze
ordinary and plain.

I think I am empty inside
grain long eaten by a mouse
water long evaporated to the elements
bones turned to dust and dumped unceremoniously into the sewer
wine soaked deep into the interior pores

I am not at peace here
with my unknown interior
Perhaps I should rest awhile
to see what may come
perhaps I am a reliquary
in some damp and dripping grotto
a thousand visitors have passed me by
in search of a higher thing
or residing quietly in the dry desert of
an Anasazi ruin
Found after an eon by a
conscientious explorer
and left safe in my hidden niche
Perhaps I am in the dead sea caves
A scroll to be read by
a Biblical scholar and tucked away
as blasphemy

And yet perhaps I am empty
inside my ceramic shell
An echoing cavern
painted with running beasts
inscribed with intricate patterns
an echoing hollow space
that if you place your ear
upon the open lip
you shall hear
only my breath
like the ocean surf

crashing

waiting to be opened.

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