The blind cat drinks from me.
I am a circle inside another circle.
Where the stone hit I was born
and there will I also die
but not before making a little
clacking noise with my sister
and taking some heat. Someone
has to catch hell, small milky spills,
sweet brown drips.
It might as well be me
sitting quietly bearing coals
across my back.
I am what holds the brewed cup,
beauty to be broken, sighed over,
swept up and thrown away.
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