Plucking a world of liquid color,
shadow birds and butterflies
dancing behind each current-rose,
A different taste of pastel, each
touched by a blessed light.
Wide as the sea itself, I'd let it swallow,
Paint me as I change my threads below-
Some would catch in impossible stone
where even the seas come to rest-
in a place of perpetual ocean, left
asleep in drifting meadows beneath.
Tying my knots at the horizon,
I'd wash myself in sunset, a soft beginning
to the sweetest oblivion, yet to come-
To watch the sea, washed anew,
as I pull in another gossamer tapestry
from above the river of night.
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