Silver moonbeams spill to the floor
Through the open warp on the loom
The pattern as yet incomplete,
Watermelons and stars: a difficult undertaking.
By now you know
Never to eat watermelon seeds,
They grow into thick walls with vines
Creeping round, confining the heart.
The heart, that feeling red organ,
Generous as the watery fruit
Which quenches its thirst,
Stars spangle the inky sky
Sequins on chiffon they whisper,
“Spit it out, spit it out,
With each seed sow peace.”
A sustained undertaking,
The tapestry complete when
Weavers come together in union
While silver moonbeams spill through the open door.