Hands behind the potters wheel

 Firm but gentle touch  
to see and have, what she possessed  
glean a little of her gleam  
bells that rang in a distant spire  
a union of like minds so blessed  
  
Move consciousness unto a higher plane  
reassure; tomorrow is your day    
grammar, "is that why you are misunderstood"  
walk with you through storms    
say "the rain it always stops, grey clouds clear away"  
   
Muse that has a mellow chime, that rings  
cajole you, when the time is right  
I still treasure mine  
still through loosed ties  
 nurture, with her diamond glints  
   
Without it, my poetry would stink  
stitching up each salvage edge  
tipping one the nod, praise, the knowing wink  
   
Firm hands upon unmoulded clay like dough  
for her critique was polish to the glaze  
fired through the angst that stifled so  
sipping from the chalice, I am the pot she made