Rebirth

One day, I will be born in your courtyard,
to convince you,
that I am his creation.
A clay sculpture,
dead in its own right,
but breathing from the light in your eyes.
And then all the vapours from your garden
would conspire to bring the rains,
melting my mud heart
slithering through your vineyard.
A year later, you imagine me as an end,
sipping your wine.