Weft

A promise to kings
As true as fear
And a truth of time
That asks
How many dream
To make it real;
How many dreams
Until it’s real.

Of the two things that unite us
Absolutely
We are not so released
In absolution
Nor do our teachings fade
So fast, faces yet hold
A few lines left of us:
A fine furrow tracing youth
Meets the crow’s feet at the edge
And looks up and down.

Beyond we behold a life that looms
With inevitability. Ask
What heft a body holds
To make us kneel.

Switch each light, by hand
Dim the room
And watch the street lights
Dance on the wall.
Dimmer still. The shadows
Of passers by blur into the frame’s
And make the darkness more whole
And less alone.

What heft.
What warp is left without texture.
What blessed touch to feel,
To pull, those threads
Home over your fingertips
After all this time.
Relishing thin traces where they were held
Firmly
Uncomplaining
Against the form.

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