my withered hands soar over water
across islands, born and unborn
from and beyond the dim horizon
i lay crystalline lace
over cooling magma,
mossy visages of rock,
living mortals,
and their dead gods.
i tire
but cannot leave the loom
while there is light in the day
there is light in my eyes
unblinking, seeking and making
the invisible pattern -
i make and am made

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