Here's another poem, a whole one this time from The Tree House. I love its simple myth-making, which reminds me of a poem about an old woman darning by the German poet, Hans Magnus Enzensberger; I'll have to see if I can find Enzensberger's poem--also three quartrains, as I recall--on the internet as I don't have a copy of it here. Jamie's poem is called "The Creel":
The world began with a woman,
shawl-happed, stooped under a creel,
whose slow step you recognize
from troubled dreams. You feel
obliged to help bear her burden
from hill or kelp-strewn shore,
but she passes by unseeing
thirled to her private chore.
It's not sea birds or peat she's carrying,
not fleece, nor the herring bright
but her fear that if ever she put it down
the world would go out like a light.