Weave of the shroud

those patterns laid out
in the weave of the shroud

what threads were spun
from carded time
so fine the hourly fibers
from breaths and gasps
sighs and exhales
only strangulated
in the weave of the shroud

for the weaver has
always woven the last
moment for freely flying wings
those eerie patterns sparkle
in the last lights
drowsy eyes spy
and drift into foggy sleep
of the darkening sky
the sweeping indigo
in the weave of the shroud

blanketed upon
both those who scurry
within the hollow dark
and those who sleep
in the weave of the shroud