Fine
Silk
Hanging,
Swaying.
We could strip
The clothes line.
Or just watch it
Carry fine silk
Until the winds blow.
*
When they do, gossamer
Mornings’ll turn powder
Sheer nights’ll blind, trembling. Winded.
Let’s beat the mistral to it.
Come, let’s spin a yarn, weave a roof.
*
Stay away, puff. Our fabric breathes.
Delicately, slowly, it breathes spry mirth.
Let it, puff. Let it inspirit itself.
*
We will sit here, and look at it breathe.
Particularly Interested 
And spin a lovely yarn you do so well.
🙂 Now all it needs is for me to really, really spin it.
You never sit on your laurels, do you? My Goddess.
I do not understand what ‘sitting on laurels’ means. So you’re safe with that. But “Goddess”? God, Linda!!
I was so taken with the illustration — and then your lovely words brought it to life. Well done! and so nice to see you. 😉
It is always lovely to see you, you bring such hope. I knew that if anything could bring you here, it would well be an etheree. (I am ignoring the picture because I cannot take credit for it.)
This is lovely, Priya! I can visualize easily from your words. xoxo
Thank you, Bela. Your words mean a lot to me! xo
Beautiful words and images, Priya. I could see the fabric billowing and dancing in the breeze.
🙂 That’s really nice, Charles. Thank you.
From now on, I won’t comment in your etherees, for I am not sure what I understand, and what I misunderstand 😛
Etheree, or any poem – in my opinion, is free for judgement, misjudgement, interpretation, misinterpretation. Don’t comment, but don’t try to read me in them. Just read them for what they are — free agents! 😀
True that.