I make my work in writing,
I make my work in stone,
I make my work from shining scraps
Of silk and blood and bone.
I make my work from sight and smell
And taste and touch and sound -
But all that goes for nothing
When the goddess comes around.
I make my work with labour
And skills of hand and heart.
I am a simple crafter.
I have little truck with art.
But when the work takes over
I am blind although I see,
And where I thought I made my work
It makes and unmakes me.
