The Angel in the Larch
Rick Cornhart makes tea cups,
each a beauty. If someone
wants to buy one, Rick will sell it
only if the buyer promises
never to drink from it.
Would you drink from a painting?
How do you pour a sculpture?
I buy one for twenty bucks.
On a winter day, I need a cup of tea.
I drink from Rick’s tea cup.
The next morning I wake up
as an orchid, beautiful at last.
Yet in my finest petal,
I hear Rick Cornhart weep.