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I spin uneasy fabric from the hours that pass shadowed in my greenèd pool, and among the dreams and demons of the night, I sift for stars, for charms, for light beside this tarn both calm and cruel. The gods who guard this place have faded now, though their deep magic sparks my veins, and their fey music lingers in the tomb of sleep's remains. I cloak my flesh in rowan leaf, a feather for my hair, and chant the moon within stillwater, when the night is locked on trembling air. I am the dreamer, dreaming of all things lost, where time has overtaken youth and made a weeping ghost, whose curse it is to search the dark for errors past and proof that tears fallen on a memory will leave no lasting mark. But, the dawn ajar, I shall rend this mortal cloth and wend the liquid air close about each limb and dance, perhaps, just out of thought, just out of mind and ken. I shall dance naked on the sun that carpets languid grass, and will you catch a glimpse in fleeting, fluid glass? My gifts rise, raptured, with the rising sun; my whispers seduce the leaves and weave the reeds and ripples, laughing over water. I offer all in all the days to come. I am. I am. Time's daughter.
Copyright © 1997 Kathleen Anspach PreddyCome join me. Share my words. (Click on the butterflies or other icons)
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