Woman Made of Thursdays

Woman made of Thursdays
Eyes of salt and rhyme
Lips of exquisite irony
Backward heart of time
Understanding nothing
With a knowing still, sublime
Woman made of Thursdays
Eyes of salt and rhyme

Woman made of Thursdays
Formed of wax and light
Sung with smoke and mirrors
The whisperings of night
Woman made of yesterdays
The bright side of the moon
Bloomed the broken phoenix
Into ashes much too soon
Woman made of something lost
No searching circle cast
Forever lost, forever
In the labyrinth of the past
A maze of mirrors to find the moon
Ashes broken bright
Woman made of Thursdays
Formed of wax and light



©Edwina Peterson Cross

Design

Chaos has its own reward
These random drops of color on the grass
form lines and blend
pattern, shaping and weaving
steps begin to flow, and, as the color melds
the old gives birth to new choreography