Art by Norman E. Masters


I weave enchantment...
a tangle of words,
shot through with silver threads
soft as a spider's web,
shining for you alone
with rubies and pearls.

(Fool, they are water gems
prismed at morning time,
gone by the noonings wind,
slaking no thirst,

My net's a fancied thing,
barbed and meandering.
Watch how my shuttle flies
wondering your watching eyes,
holding you by my side,
witch-turned to stone.)

              Irene Dodge
               June 23, 1983

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