Gently nudged by a waxing moon,
The spinning wheel sun
Slowly treadles away
Casting thin filaments of spun gold
To intertwine with moon-silver skeins of light.
Threading the sanded shores
In the moon-tugging ebb and flow
Of tide-weavings,
As shore-birds shuttle through the warp
With darning-needle beaks

Breezes knit the seaweed weft
Into strands which fly gleaming,
Off the weaves
That tumble over beach-lines
In phosphorescent folds,
To smooth themselves out again,
As the gathering fabric of reflection
Drifts shimmering to the horizon
Where unseen hands roll it into satin wedding-bolts,
To be sold in foreign galaxies.

Email Me