warp strung taut- through bone white, polished loom;
in the mirror
there hangs an aged, fading, fraying cartoon,
left long ago
by bygone shadows she probably knew;
forgotten now,
just weaving through a haze in her room;
she remembers
nearly nothing- of the burnished heirloom;
who brought it there,
whence from, why, and- by whom was it hewn?
but endlessly
driven, shuttling weft threads of blood puce;
unraveling
spools monochrome- oh, carelessly strewn;
I must- finish!
singing- dry throated, desperate tune;
keep your spirits
up- shh, shh; visions don't come to ruin;
here you go, dear,
just say aaah, dear- yes, here comes the spoon-
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of a son
