I met the weaver today
scalloping burnished gold
onto tamed hanks of lacebark,
porous and sunbleached
tissue thin strips of lathed bone.
He was cold, the weaver,
but he talked sunnily enough
of commissions and
traditional uses for the bark
- bandages and summer cloaks -
as spring sun sparkled crisply
on the bay.
He gave me news of the cloak
I coveted
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