Friday, April 9, 2010

Once Upon A Yew: A White Stocking Tale

Yew chalks a boundary between death and immortal life; its symbol is I
-Book of Balymote, 1391

Imagine once upon a yew that she still lives and spins anew in maidenhair 
to mend the blue wide avé nous once spun throughout and through the whorl
that thundered through the white hands where the pale maid sits turning just a girl. And when she wheels and spins and moans
into the shad, into the ‘oh’ ness of the crone 
behind the spray and veiled, she weights a thread, thus come

how once she more than realized the tuffet moppet spot she sat upon
beds wet in mid and trough a knotting taut to realize the ‘is’ because
she was and is and calls her metis wove in h’s like a shroud, a cloud

she watched as kings reigned the weave within the spot where she is not
and wore instead a knot -a maiden shadow thrown
to orchestrate king-order in a vast disaster-us-affair, home-grown

the knot full well like ©hair in nothing more than (h)air inherited; begun
in not—no more a king than this, a plot: a plot of heirs who plot in hairs

stranded strands 
twisted twists;
shadow mist

the god-airs stand behind her as she combs and cards the dew; O, she places
in her basket blue; the moon, now full behind them and between them, too

dewdrops fall
threads fall
mixed together in the blue

like complex compositions in the shading of a yew
the moon, her emblem, strung upon a string
spirals through the falling threads of dew no thing

the vault of heaven turns and in the turning light
in dispenser of this burning vortex theme
she drew -O... don't tell me!

the air of Eros in its lust
the ire of Ares in its thrust
insist this composing loveliness still spun of air

for her sheen already forming on the distaff drew
to h'earth in both in both what blew this foam the
thunderhead no longer knew; in downward move

in wave of blue, to heap all loveliness upon a yew

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