"COSMIC WEAVER"
by Ken Beattie
                                                          

And that Wolfe's mother
longs to found a Roman race
Still is not behind us-
We patient weavers
Pass the words
of generation

through generations
turning the harp crank
backwards
off the bloody
string beaten loom

Late at night
Janitor angels
sweep the universe
dancing around
and under the veil
praying

       WHO

the least of whom
has swept his hand
across the strings)

Will sing to
them that

somewhere
sometime
someone

Tuned the mute-weave
     garden
     voice
      to
      ear
and freed old Romans
to contend with slaves

So Rhea
birth us on a hill
where we may this time sing
above the confines
of our will

And love the work
you weave so well
in futures now so
past so still.