(for F.)

In the tight tapestry of life,
I pull a single thread,
undo the routine,
let it catch the air like a milkweed seed,
that dances into the world, lights on
a brook, babbles over language’s rocks,
and sweeps down the current
to a fertile gleaming delta, to the sea,
pulled out by waves, by a tide
under the circular moon
whose light through your window
catches a silvered mote
that settles on lightly shut eyelids
folded so delicately
over your gently storming brain
that at this moment
begins to think of me.

08/01/2002

Posted on 08/01/2002
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