Silk falls from the sky here.
The ribbons, cut from the clouds that tied them together.
It's fibers tell a story within its craft;
The process of its production and dismemberment, is all the story we need.
We can concoct a credible tale, that is both believable and disappointing.
The garment that does not attract the eyes of the lone wanderer, is equally isolated;
Destined to fall into the hands of neglect and disrepair.
The Weaver's capabilities and expertise are exemplified through his very product.
Completion is the ultimate downfall;
Bound to be severed and casted out from his presence.
His care and surveillance extends as far as the material's length.
The silk's beauty is found within its ultimate consequence: solitude.