Across the spinning wheel of sky
The night is stretched
Like black canvas
Embroidered with silver stars
A woven tapestry
Of monochromatic myths
I touch this sky fabric
With eight legs, once fingers
Reading the raised stitches of distant suns
Like sentences in Braille
Each star a word
Each constellation a story
Strung together like droplets of dew
On strands of spider web
I bind this book of sky
Inscribing the pattern of who I truly am
In defiance of gods who punish unjustly
Knitting a truth no longer black and white
Knotting together the ancient cobwebbed tales
I am a weaver of forgotten legends
A wanderer-herald telling my own story
I turn the night sky like a page
Learning to find my way beyond darkness
To the fraying edge of the universe
Where the looming fates still claim
To spin, measure and cut
The threads of all lives
But I am Arachne
And the yarn of my
life I spin myself
