In Gowan Ring Orb Weavers
Once upon the moment of beauty laid long past
the itch on the cheek of a mute mouth clasped
In a twirled looking glass, to go or stay
in course at its own display
A pot, a pan, a cutlery board,
a pepper and black spice tray
Time spooled, unspinning
Life scrolls unravel
The telling tale wends bends and
Breaks these tomes we travel
Over and again we abide
But which side now of the
Looking-glass facade am I?
Memories haunt like diamonds
Reminiscence swirls as smoke
Nettles in the morning
At night steeped straw of oat
Petals of jasmine, anemones
In a water bowl afloat
How grace arranged the chance array
Come eventide's shifting glow
Bend and stretch, swing and sway
I am as a snake in your hands
Wading loose as oars of two creaky boats
that play patterns with silt on the sand
Black coruscation, loam liquid beads
The Orb Weavers spin the length of their wheels…
