Your dexterity in your weaving Is surpassed only by the glibness of your tongue You weave and tales come out of your fingers. The interlaced patterns sometimes unravel Whorls of ancient longings Hurling you eons before your time. I knit picked my way in Drawn by the shadows Of the loosely bounded tapestry. The mesh, like web defies convention Forming truths from strange connections. As you pulled the last string into place Nerves, taut as the strand Swell from your hands. From afar, I see the thing breathe on its own Dispelling notions of your myths.