he is the gentle weaver.
soft, soft
whispering the warp,
quiet fingers calling
in the waft.
the shapes melt
into the tapestry ~
raw satin edges,
snake skin, moon beams,
heart strings,
silver dreams ~

two women stand before it,
one with dark eyes
one with light.
they say the same thing,
conjoined bird song voices
they are crystal bound and
have found the way home.

but she cannot hear them,
she is long ago dreaming,
and has already jumped off the
cliff. she taught herself to
stitch tiny spells into her
soft skin ~ the pain felt
better than the void.

it was a travel down the
gravel road made on her
hands and knees ~ tear
stained face and soul filled
with scars.  journey through
the land of ghost and demons.
one to numb you, one to kill you.

if you are brave enough to die
then you will find
the one who knows
how to sing you back to being.

it is the great shifting and sifting,
it is the quiet eyes re-awakening,
it is the treasure chest song,
it is the blue sky day found
wrapped in the weaver's cloth.

it was the entrance through the
eleven arches, it was the exit
found in dark soul night.  even
with her eyes closed, she found
the way.  only her hands to lead
her home ~ back into the fire lit
safety of the one who weaves.

safe, safe, protected in the gentle
back and forth of his wave ~
his hum heard loud and strong
through all of her tumbled days.

now she sits, the women with
eyes of light and dark stand on
either side, and she watches him
with glow written across her
features ~ timeless, he moves in
the smooth sway of the quiet way ~
he takes the burden, disappears it,
he knows how to create a day.

and the one who had been lulled to
sleep has awakened herself, pulled
herself back into being and in silver
fish gratitude she sings a rainbow note ~

life is animated,
the tones ring with color ~
everything has changed.
look deep into the fabric,
and whisper your true name.
call yourself to yourself,
and fall into the arms
of the one who knows.
ouvrez votre coeur
et entrez
l'atelier du tisserand.