her feet are tucked under, her arm is outstretched, fingers extended
what is she thinking? her face is so clear and unlined
she watches in silence, a moment in time never rescinded
noone to witness, no ripple from anyone's mind
a pebble is moving to send out its lines, water is waiting
still in forever, the moment continues to fall
the surface unbroken from now until then indivisible
floating unnoticed, let everything rise to her call
a basket or cradle, a harp or a loom on her lap is suspended
soon it will waken and take on the shape she commands
her hands hold the bottle, the warp or the strings, these softly tended,
bended to manifest pattern unfolding from strands
I hear the harmonics that summon a note to begin
I see the design that emerges from under the thread
the child that awakens and cries in the night for her skin
the food that she carries aloft on the top of her head
the image that's born from a dreamer asleep in a bed
come carry me mother, I wait for your touch, arms are wide open
play on the instrument making the air in us ring
to be everything and the absence that gives birth to hoping
make me a cloth for cold winter that follows the spring
M@ 2010
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