​February 13th, by Diana Webb

The Slippers, by Samuel Van Hoogstraten (Netherlands) 1654 -62

​February 13th
 
En-wrought with gold ...light...she remembers those borrowed words... yes it was Yeats .. remembers the altar frontal sewed for the church by her mother perhaps a seamstress of animal skins pulled out beyond the gilded hand of the ancient chapel clock into hill fort cycles  ...dreams...tread softly...she fashions her footwear as crafted for tiptoeing angel...the broom that swept up those ginkgo leaves how the veins wound round and round it the way she swept him away...when he needed that key...to the place where she pulsed ...there's a thread still there from the gold leaf fabric her mother crafted...she attempts to squeeze it into the hole in the tiny needle ...pierces her to the core from a fingertip ... a drop of blood spills gold as if from the veins of those fan shaped leaves in their breaths of air which will kindle a flicker of flame in the almost burned out wick of his heart... she writes the words all wet with her tears as the moon shines through and sends out a glint of a trail that anoints around the rusted keyhole of heaven's gate... yes, thankyou Blake … how joy and woe are woven fine … under grief and pine … a silken twine that will  suddenly turn with the flash of a ring and spiral inwards to his heart 
 
my dna
in this strand of amber hair
all I am is yours

Diana Webb

Diana Webb edits the print journal Time Haiku . Her favourite form of writing is haibun and she has composed many ekphrastic pieces using this genre. Her latest book is the novelty of novello.