Monday, July 11, 2011
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.