Weaving with Silver and Gold / Elegy for the Lonely Writer

By Blake


She is weaving a world again;

a world where silver and gold thread

tie down the trees 

and make sure they never leave her again. 


She doesn’t weave alone anymore, 

her hands are cupped, over

flowing with soft figures

and her mouth with 

sour blood and candy

she chews up and spits out

like turns of phrase

onto the pulp. 


By the light of the moon, 

the trees can still be woven 

with silver and gold, 

but she can’t see it 

on her stoop where she weaves

her own trees, 

where she is always lonely but

never alone. 


The string is breaking 

while the scent of smoke floats in. 

She’ll make new ones tomorrow. 

God is a self-made man,

and she’s God here.


a note from the artist-

"This is a piece I wrote about the lonely nature of writing, of crafting new worlds."


Follow Blake on Instagram @blakemolenaar

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