rock, paper, scissors: meditations on the three #4
 
in the darkside dance,
 
one sits and spins,
and waits, in time
regenerating.
one is a weaver in the
art of timeless
tapestries of pain.
one cuts the threads that
bind, in light, her
sword between them.
 
it is for her
alone to wield
alone.
 
three, dreaming of
time, on a loom of
endless slaughter,
dancing their long
plague dances on the
winter solstice floor.
 
called to the pattern
changing in the night.
 
one sits and spins,
gives only life in death,
eternally remaking.
the weaver's stuck
at the mouth of Hell,
his art unravels.
one goes but is not
gone, she gives herself away.
open, she dances.
 
she is alone, unbound,
set free, and yet no longer
One.
 
watching the pattern
changing in the light.
 
three, waiting for time,
spun, woven, cut
(rock, paper, scissors),
dancing the dark dance
in and out of light,
at the end of story.
 

macha
macha@ntl.sympatico.ca
written 28 Aug 2003
for Tea at the Ford with macha