Woodcarver’s Bowl

See the sunlight in dancing leaves
And branch-formed arms cradling breath
Rising toward the light, year upon year.

There are lives fully told
In the turning of a bowl

Maple, Butternut, Ash, and Oak,
Even the Woodcarver’s dreams...
All laid bare by the spinning lathe,
And the chisel’s scrape.

Epochs revealed turn by turn,
Times of plenty, then of dearth,
Fire’s sear or the sap spile mark;
Drought and disease and the borer’s trace.

Hardship etched in the broken rings,
Scars extolled in the vessel's wholeness --
Depth and character revealed,
Resurrected in the polish.

Behold now! See the sunlight in dancing leaves
And branch-formed arms cradling breath
Rising toward the light, year upon year.
Essence now embraced in a carved sphere.

The woodcarver’s bowl
Turned for eyes that can see --
Time in a hallowed tree,
And the dreamer’s soul.

Maple, Butternut, Ash and Oak,
Shaped by love — again,
Now to hold, caress,
​ And lift anew.