by ETHAN GUARDADO
Tufts of trees and grass of wool
Mountains of curves and corners
Silky seas that hint an Earthy, molten core
The Weaver sits, threading life reborn
Frays of color intertwine
Yet often fight for space which lies
Often burning and cooked and seared in fire
Which blotch themselves upon the woven pyres
The Earthy flesh, destroyed
Losing Her guiltless fibers
But of all the chaos and fire and smoke
The Weaver stays Her one true post
And affixes strains of concurring color
A course of fibers, constantly burning
A rhythm of threads, constantly churning
Eons of strands, of tangles and smold’ring
And yet
the Weaver strives
to forever tie the fabrics
Of Her most precious Work