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.