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.

Image by kconnors

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 gift of the awing

when all the unseen world is glowing.


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