Roberta Feins


The River Tarn at Albi

Wind threshes    beats the clouds
with bladed swingle.

Combs of church steeples    hackle streams
of rain    drawn plied spun

on the Mother-of-All wheel    of the old bridge
her piers a loom    heddle separating warp

of gray waters    turning the ratchet.
    Shafts of plumed herons

treadle the reedy bank    great carp
with pinecone scales    fluttering,

shoot through the shed    of braided silver
weave a splendid    brocade tapestry.






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