I turn my face up to the sky
and watch the slivered moon
hang upon a blue-black night
like the spindle of a loom.
If sky were cloth, and I were skilled,
and stars were buttons bright,
what a wond’rous garment we would yield,
and hem it up with light.
c. EE, circa 2000
2 thoughts on “Seamstress”
This poem is beautiful. The last 4 lines are hanging in my mind.
It’s an old one, written on the way home from work one night, when the sky was clear and the slender moon bright.