Pass the beveled shuttle-cock 
between the weft and weave
The rhythm of the loom.
Rocking back and forth
Sings a hypnotic tune.
A playlist far off from the past
A glint of the ancient story
In flux as the cloth comes to be
And reveal all its glory.
Grown tight with threads of light
A spell
 Written in the gravity 
The orbit of far off stars
We are moving toward an eclipse
And wondering what we are.

This poem was inspired by a prompt from Sylvia Kalina on substack and this video of Instagram. Maybe I could read it to a loom beat?