Purple-skied nets cast out on a lonely sea
An old woman sits at the prow
Her eyes bright hollows of dancing light
Dandelions catching fire under an August sky,
Incense breathes through her mouth
Light and feathered like a memory
Time hangs suspended in the moulted sky
She looks through your eyes.
In the cavern of flux
The moonlit sand is full of shapes
That dance and intermingle,
Under the silver-webbed silence
Of her dreaming corpse.
