Saturday, August 14, 2010

This Poem Wasn't

This poem wasn't of woman born

from seed of stranger dumb
planted in my mind's womb

multiplying in gestate
in cauldron inchoate

seeking life force to feed
a cry of love and need

'twas but a tiny thread
woven in loomlike bed

inserting, in pulling
inlaying, a crafting

of fabric into quilt
in patterns of my kilt

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