Language woven
Silk-thread
gossamer,
fishnet
webbing, a pattern
in play; pure
language
unspoken but sketched
out in woven chords.
The artist sits
alone
in a corner, full-dusted,
surveying his
domain.
He knits lines,
threads
flowing, the
whole unseen
until the very last
piece
connects. Dew catches;
diamond glints
suspended
drip life into
our hands.
Night sets it
all glittering;
fine stars in
our backyard,
flicker in
moonlight’s eyes,
adrift upon the
wind.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, March 28, 2021
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