Friday, July 15, 2011

An old song

I sift your ancient sand
and draw out a bead
of my own making, a bead

older than your stories,
older than your earth’s caress

and drop it tinkling
into my sieve of antler and bone.

These artefacts I gather:
a crow’s feather, tattered and glinting
blue in the pale spring sun;

some weathered strands of seaweed;

a ring of whale bone
and a slip of rainbow shell.

The mask I weave is sparse,
salty and hollow as a drum,
fit for a dance of eternities

the sea witch and her consort,
the sand-stripped sleek black god.

Rachel Westfall
July 15, 2011

5 comments:

christopher said...

Rachel!! Thank you for this gift! I love it when we get going like this.

Before The Moon Sets

Oh Sweet Christ, my love,
I am scattered by your eyes
and by the long spell
they cast upon me,
upon my salt shore before
I dive deep, otter
shaped, for shells you need,
and live fish for food and scales
to adorn your masks.

My joy is scattered
like seed and it sprouts, then fruits
before the moon sets.

July 15, 2011 12:47 PM

RachelW said...

Ahh, that feeds my soul. Thank you, Christopher!

namingconstellations said...

The little magics are the best ones. Love the feel of this one.

KalpanaS said...

'fit for a dance of eternities'

dancing in the moonlight....beautiful! I enjoyed reading another side to the waxing moon, having written one too.


http://nowritehere.blogspot.com/2011/03/eve-of-perigee-moon-march-18th.html

He ment well (sometimes did) said...

Buckets 7/22/11 9:46 pm
Sitting forlorn in the end of a nonfunctional driveway
Rocks all types from value to scrap
Stones all alone but for the bucket next
Treasure mine eye sees only gems
Wonder under the chaff and slag
Many see naught but scrap
Buckets full of dross left to me, given
Horded, held in trust
Gems I see, scraps and slag and gravel
For you are all they could be.
The buckets speak to me for you garbage is all you can see
They come with love from my heroes
Gifted to me

Christopher M McQueeney