Someone who was there, and paying a great deal of attention to the people present, could probably time the writing of this sonnet by the descriptions in the first verse.
A fairy scarlet-haired and leather-capped,
A woman garbed in time lord’s blue and white;
Hands hold a pen, and child gently wrapped
And set to task: with well-worked stones to write.
The line winds through the room; we seek our sparks.
Lift every bead: weigh color, shape, and feel,
And look for omens hidden in their marks:
A hint of immanence and words made real.
An unassuming bead of wood carved round,
A pewter-masted ship with sails unfurled,
A square of jasper map-marked by the ground,
And each one holds a poem, a thought, a world.
Hands work in gold and silver, stone and wire;
Eyes find the name—and light the muse’s fire.