Lady

I AM the Lady of the Night

Dream: Thread, Yarn, Pearl, Glass| Canvas

9”x12”

---

Lady

The shades of black
wrestle and rumble,
till they end their childish banter.

I stay awake
as the dreamers sleep,
hear them drizzle into
the woven fabric.

So peacefully they weep,
no thoughts,
breath uninterrupted.

And I swim through the exhales and inhales.
The ocean flows through me,
the moon sings me a song.
Eyes twinkle with stars.

I am given the finest lamb
and grapes that tremble wine.

Here, I descend through those vines,
down the spiraling bead,
onto the eternal plea of my children.

Now now, child, your dreams will no longer be my memories,
but stories of my woven threads.

• in private collection

Bond

Come Back To Me

Dream: Thread, Yarn, Pearl, Wood| Canvas

9”x12”

---

Bond

When the living tires,
erase everything.
Erase every face of divinity
you have known.
Erase the temples and shrines.
Erase yourself,
the idea of living,
even existence itself.

And go lie in
the womb of the mother.

Beneath the bushes,
behind the pine trees,
on the bed of orchid,
my womb lay bare.

Where the circles loop
over and over again,
the red sap drops
onto your mouth.

I lay there,
where eyes once saw river.
Come, hold this thread.
As long as you have that,
you always will have me.

MA

Ancestors

Dream: Thread, Yarn, Pearl, Glass| Canvas

9”x12”

---

MA

I AM the echoes
of my ancestors,
cell by cell,
made of me.

This memory, so ancient,
I can vividly see
the eyes of the weaver herself.

This body, borrowed for dream,
Contains the ethos
of every mother
in my bloodline.

Cell by cell,
made of me,
Mother’s desire
once again, to Be.

• in private collection

YaKút

The Final Meet

Dream: Yarn, Pearl, Wax | Paper

11”x15”

---

Self portrait

Ωltar slept in peace,
calling herself a mystic in your house.

But here you are,
in your full bridal gown,
reminding me once again
we are The One.

The One beyond the void,
clutching her thread,
laughing at Ωltar
for taking a break.

*

I AM the Dream Weaver.
And this is my ultimate truth.

Now I sit in this wooden stall,
with threads with no ends,
pulling from this unguard heart
strings of my final breath.

*

And now, I AM your storyteller.

• not for sale