Among the reeds and waters there, betwixt
the flooded fields and fertile shores that line
the sacred river was she born: Sangmir,
most beautiful of artisans. She worked
clay from the river bank as though born with
a potter's wheel turning beside her bed.

And in the towers fair and high, where birds
o'ertop the ramparts soar, and sounds from down
below echo from hot and hazy roofs
emerged another maiden to the world:
O Orðan, with her smiling face and cheer
that made her welcome wherever she went.

Sangmir, when she was grown, her art she took
into the streets, to sell it for the coin
she required to pay her groc'ry part.
She had in stock all pots and plates covered
with pictures she had plucked from out the minds
of passing traders who had stopped to sup
upon the docks beside her house. These things
she sold, delicately picked out in hues
of finest gold (and copper too, when she
could not the high metal obtain in bulk).

It was a lively summer's night when down
the hill came Orðan, hair adorned by stones
of precious composition skillfully
emplaced about her raven locks. She saw
the potter standing there amidst busy
market stalls and she said to her: "Have you
a bowl fit for persea fruit, which I
could purchase from your shop for modest price?"

"Though I have ne'er been one to eat that fruit,"*
Sangmir replied. "I have just such a bowl.
Is it to be for you, or passed in gift?"

*Persea is a wide genus, but in this instance refers to a domesticated relative of the avocado, that produces small, green, egg-shaped fruits. By saying that she doesn't eat them, Sangmir is implying that she's a lesbian.

And hearing her reply she laughed, and said
in cheerful tones, "It is a gift. For me,
I eat of every fruit in our wide world.
My brother though, does such a dish require —
an ordinary need, for his table
was upset by the passage of his dog."

"Well, you will need the sturdy sort of dish,
for one who has a dog about the place!"
Sangmir set one such dish upon her table,
and turned it so it could be seen. "My work,
as you can see, is of a sturdy make,
both durable and decorated well."

"Two natures found in some demand, in pots
and women both," sly Orðan answered back.
"But at what cost can such a treasure be
obtained? I have much credit with the bank."

"And from that wealth you may a dish attain!
But women must be bought with more than wealth.
Upon the market's close, you might find me
in yonder inn, that sells some roasted lamb.
For now, the pot is yours for seven drachm."

And Orðan laughed and paid and went, coming
back only when the sun had kissed the hills.
She found Sangmir just seated at the inn,
and placed an order for some lamb and tea.
The tea they brought was hot and spiced with myrrh.
And when, relaxing, the tea they had sipped,
she turned to her and asked about her day.
"How has the market treated you? How does
it please you to sell all your things of clay?"

"It pleases me as well as any day,
to know I can afford to pay for meat,"
Sangmir answered. "Yet I think that it is
not half so much the highlight of my day,
as is the fact that you came back to talk."

"I would be quite remiss to let such sweet
a look as yours escape from me for long,"
her suitor then replied. "When we have supped,
perhaps I could entice from you an hour more,
to walk along the bank and talk of stars?"

"It would be no great chore at all, to walk
with you upon the riverside and talk.
Of stars, perhaps, or of just where you live,
that down the high-street from the scholar's den
you come to take the evening meal with me."

"It is as true as anything is true,
that I live south upon the hill. But think
me not a scholar but one of those fools
whose charge it is to deal with foreign folk.
For an ambassador I am — 'tis I
who dues and tariffs do reduce, by use
of my most cunning and lascivious tongue."

"And is it really by your tongue that you
do set the rates? Not penning missives bound
for foreign ports? I should think the risk of
few papercuts to be superior
to the chance that you might upon your hook
catch some prince from out across the ocean,
and having caught him need to build again
your contacts in the land beyond the sea."

"The trick of it, you see, is to catch them
just long enough that the ink has then dried,
and having caught them, let them go, to be
swept 'way once more upon the tide," she said.
"It takes a fickle sort of heart, and I
find that I cannot bear it for so long,
without a stalwart heart to tie myself
in place, and keep me here in the city."

"And so, though seeking hempen craft you are,
you set your sights upon a potter — why?
If, in a tight and shapely jar you wished
your quarrlesome heart be kept, I would oblige.
But I have not sailed up the river yet,
and have no native faculty with rope."

And Orðan placed a hand on hers, and said
"But keep my heart you would? Oh say it true."

"An hour long has our acquaintence been,
and unlike the fluttering thoughts of men
who sail the sea in trade, a potter's heart
takes more than a minute to heat in kiln.
But — let us walk, and see what stars will guide
our travel here upon the land," she said.

They dined and drank and stood up then
to walk the short way to the waters dark.
And no record is kept of what was said,
but when the sun returned to life, it saw
the two of them cuddled upon the bank,
wrapped up in Orðan's shawl to keep the chill
of night at bay as they greeted the dawn.

Sangmir returned to work upon her craft,
but Orðan called on her again to ask
for her to venture forth with her and see
where else she might attempt to heat her heart.

The days, they passed like barley funnl'd down
from the silo of summer where they're stored.
And often did Sangmir listen to hear
the steps of her lover upon the lane.
Exploring with great frequency, they shared
one to another their most favorite sites,
and spoke of a life to be lived as one.
They crept into each other's life like rosy-
fingered dawn, 'till hardly could one be found
without the other there. They were at peace.

In time, Sangmir moved in to the south hill,
and kept her humble clay amidst the walls
that also housed the scholars and the banks.

And Orðan to her wheel did come to say
that she had done all that she could to warm
Sangmir's fair heart of clay — and if it was
not heated through by then she knew not what
to do, save wish her well upon her way.

"Of course my heart is yours, my dear," she said.
"Pott'ry may take its time to bake, but then,
when it has cooked, one can no stronger stone
find in all the world, though one look o'er long."
And having said her piece, she bent her neck
and kissed her there amongst the unglazed pots.

"Then will you swear this thing for me," she asked.
"That our purpose shall be as one? That all
who wish to know my secrets will not hear
them from your lips, nor yours from mine? That all
we do will be together, for all time?"*