“STAND on the highest pavement of the stair—

Lean on a garden urn—

Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—”

from La Figlia che Piange by T.S.Eliot

Weaving

The golden veils

You weave in your hair,

From sunlight- sunbeams,

Soft and gentle

Of some dying suns,

The harbingers of death will take with them

To shroud the dying suns.

august 2007