Elaine told me how she could take
the very crudest piece of clay
and squeeze the earth between her hands
and mold it till she found a shape
she could consider beautiful,
and when she placed it in the kiln
the clay would bake, the fire would make
it into something she could love.

I have no skill to shape or mold
the elements, so I must make 
do with what raw material
I have: this bone won't yield like earth,
won't melt under the heat, won't burn
in fire, won't even whittle down
but stays unchanged, its shape remains,
still crooked, warped, deformed, and bent.