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 gift of the awing
when all the unseen world is glowing.
