Down by the sand, where river bends,
we stayed all day.
I read to you a book I knew,
while summer passed.

And you held your breath until the end.
Then you wept for beauty,
and for all that we have known,
and all we don’t know yet to pass.
You said, “I see you new.
Still, I can hear the river call.”

I’ll go by land
You take the river.
Meet me again
when we come to the Keeper.

You found me fresh, casting fisher nets
across the valley.
To reel in words to tell the world
what wonders we’ve seen.

And I made our bed beneath the sky.
You marveled at me in the
blue light of midnight,
while stars tangled into my hair
(leaving twigs and burrs to comb out tomorrow.)
My love, can you hear the frogs are singing?
They’re weaving a tapestry- an old rug.

With Copper for you skin,
and Amber for the whiskey.
Green torn from my dress,
and Black from the page.
With Crimson from my breast,
and Russet from your voice.
With Gold from all the candles
left ‘round the barn.

With Red desert walls
And Grey early dawn.
Yellow Whirling Way
and Brown rattlesnake.
Wtih Rose from the bath,
Ash from the tears,
Moss from the spring
and Honey for the years.

Take a needle made of bone
With Spider’s thread to sew.
Sing for him the sweetest tune
of Scarlet, Sage and Rose.

Grandmother taught us to weave
the human story of We.
Said: Child take the colors of
All you’ve loved.
Weave them together
And trust the design will come.
When the task is done,
fashion a fine twisting border,
but leave a small space open
so all that’s left may go free.

I kissed your mouth. You kissed my brow
and my bare shoulder.
I held your heart. You held my fear,
and we dove deeper.

And we stopped to swim beside the road.
Then we filled our hats
with late July blackberries,
minding the stickers.
And you said, “we don’t know what’s to come.”
Still, my love,
can’t you see that we are singing?
We’re weaving a tapestry- an old rug,
with warp and weft of finest thread
stretched across a loom.
Here, you see the reddest bird,
and there, a wooden flute.

Take a needle made of bone
with Spider’s thread to sew.
Sing for him a simple tune
Of Scarlet, Sage and Rose.

Grandmother taught us to weave,
the human story of We.
Said: Child, take the colors of
All you’ve loved.
Weave them together
and trust the design will come.
And when the task is done,
give him the work you’ve seen through.
Each weaving has its end.
So life may begin anew.