The Water Loom

The solid beam of gilded oak,
Secures the length of golden thread.
The steady fingers, the husky croak-
Of her voice that rose the hair of red.

She wove colours of a dripping moon,
Her hands to blur it's giant frame.
A sheet of water, a velvet dune,
The weakened heart of a distant claim.

The nameless woman who wove the water,
The surface of a glassy pool.
The fairest face of a stranger's daughter,
Perched upon a crooked stool.

Her liquid heart with fabric waves,
That fed the loom with lush, blue strings.
The line of thread that peeled life's graves,
To stroke the feathers of pale, blue wings.
hang on, am writing another stanza now
here it is!

A hesitant smile that healed her lips,
That swayed across her sea green face.
Beneath her eyes of sunken ships,
Her listening ears of deep blue lace.