The Woven Cord for Precious Stones
I have a cord of gold and silver strung
With gemstones. They are hue struck like the leaves
Of autumn, spring and summer, winters stung
With frost and beauty, and my thought perceives
Them as I pull them from the caverns of
My psyche. Memories are my shining past
To be resurfaced from the depths of love
Beneath the ocean’s texture. When I cast
The rope down far into the present’s sea
And search the underwater scissures, there
I snag the jewels of natural mines and free
And find my reminiscences which flare
In bottomless fissures awaiting my
Attempts to raise them to the conscious eye.