Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Jenny Jo Wennlund



The Weaving Room
for Philip Lamantia


I am following him to the weaving room
To a rock by the shallow falls
To ravines of golden arson
To petals rotted in a glass of wine
To globes balanced upon hour glasses
To hands fingering Andromeda’s locket
And to that north island next a turning castle
Of poet’s voices weaving from the moon.

When the light dawns he will sit in a chair
Covered with swan’s blood
And shrouded in pelts of forsaken dust.

But I am coming to the room
And he will be there in sonorous dark
In a darkness of fiery rapture
Fiery like a river of my mind
Emptying its vein into the woven sea.







1 Comments:

Anonymous pap said...

this girl, this jenny jo, is miraculous, a visionary belying her limited years. read these poems carefully, for the poet has met the Great Mother Tree, and learned the way...

Thursday, March 09, 2006 12:48:00 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home