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Naiad

Kathleen
Preddy


Naiad


 

I spin uneasy fabric from the hours
that pass shadowed in my green�d pool,
and among the dreams and demons of the night,
I sift for stars, for charms, for light
beside this tarn both calm and cruel.
The gods who guard this place have faded now,
though their deep magic sparks my veins,
and their fey music lingers
in the tomb of sleep�s remains.
I cloak my flesh in rowan leaf,
a feather for my hair,
and chant the moon within stillwater,
when the night is locked on trembling air.

I am the dreamer, dreaming
of all things lost,
where time has overtaken youth
and made a weeping ghost,
whose curse it is to search the dark
for errors past and proof
that tears fallen on a memory
will leave no lasting mark.

But, the dawn ajar,
I shall rend this mortal cloth
and wend the liquid air close about each limb
and dance, perhaps, just out of thought,
just out of mind and ken.
I shall dance naked on the sun
that carpets languid grass,
and will you catch a glimpse 
in fleeting, fluid glass?
My gifts rise, raptured, with the rising sun;
my whispers seduce the leaves
and weave the reeds
and ripples, laughing over water.
I offer all in all the days to come.
I am. I am. Time�s daughter.


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Copyright �1997 by Kathleen Anspach Preddy. All rights reserved.
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