I spun from the moon threads of light

and wove them to fashion my sight.

My soul was reflected inside,

revealed by the scant light of night.

The weave was transparent and silver

a tenuous substance,

a shiver,

not meant for this world or this weaver,

a glimmer,

a mirror,

a river.

Sometimes you just see without knowing

what nature’s unfolding to show you;

you’re granted the thrill of the awing

by all the unseen world that’s glowing.


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