by Mary R. Smith
I dream him
taking the hillside
buoyed by light
I’m dazed as he lifts
his face toward me
his cap tilting.
I shadow him
into his shed:
roof of russet voile
drapes, twists
on upright poles.
He tucks his tunic
under his thighs.
In his lap, on a
a silk bound board
leopards slouch,
gazelles vault,
lacing warp and woof.
Air rouses his fingers,
threads stir
release melodies
lost in the gauze.
Mary Smith enjoys writing poetry as a hobby. Learning to write has been a life-long pleasure.