World of Woven Words

Her mind was a Greek chorus of sentiments
shouting observations around her brain
like harried swifts and swallows
who have just divined the secret of the cosmos.

Words flowing past
like water from a spring,
like whispers in a dream,
not able to turn away
from the images that await
flopping like fish on a rock.

Sorrow flows from her deep well
of halted words sharpened
and shaded by slivers of light,
brilliant as molten bronze visions
present in glowing coals
that warm her as she shears
and combs and spins
her world of woven words.