Wooden shield so lovely fine, carved with hearts and covered in twine, covers the sound of weary sigh, escapes from blanket hollow white… and lifting off the heavy night, as widest sky and bear outside, though neither can hear the other one cry, same they stand in parted longing lives. And in the light of morn and moon, the shielded lady sets her loom, to weave her sorrow into tapestry new, to sing and soothe and spin it true – and she spins it true, alone in the room… “Oh wooden wheel, with painting peeled, a splintered lady, carving arms this wood shall wield
turning sigh, this wheel a shield.” And her tears became strands of gold into lakes and rivers wove, and her words fell white and black , threaded into mountain tracks – and her voice so pure and clear became the pattern of the air, became the voice of air so clear ,as she sung it there, as she sung it there… “Wooden lady, flesh of white, arms grow strong yet as air still light, and feathers of softest downy might will awake one day able to fly – with feathers of softest downy might a heron goes soaring, heron, white…” Then, in the light of morn and moon, the shielded lady stands from her loom, her sorrow she leaves in tapestry new, her sorrow she wove, and away it flew. And from her window, a child sees true while cycling wheel carries and moves – to her window remains his eyes, as cycling wheel carries him by – to her window remains his eyes, at the heron soaring, heron, white.
from Floating Felt,
released February 4, 2009
Cello by Miri Hutcherson
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