Clay

Soft, squishy, sometimes
I run through your fingers and splatter Onto the floor
Other edges
Firmer and harder to move
I twist and reach, some
Tips hard
And rigid
Fall
And
Shatter

Give rise to softer roots that are malleable

Fingers reach from the inside Creating
Mazes in
My interior

Hands
Exteriorly
Touch me and I bend

But I am mounted on the same pedestal always