She weaves with smoke the bands of lace
That catch and bind his soul.
Salvation in the dancing grace
Of line and scope and form.
Pirouettes of gold twist purple web
To anchor him in place
Against the tidal current’s ebb
That tempts him from her grasp.
He’ll stay, the promise that he breaks
If she will let him go
But there among life’s bitter aches
Her emptiness shows through
Despite the many tangled threads
She spins to hold him there,
And as her weaving farther spreads
He struggles to be free.
A web of smoke and soft-spun lace
Won’t hold against his will
A squirming man who knows his place