Needlepoint

to Cath

Like the sun that filters through this lace,
That touches every angle of our barren room
And finally comes to rest here on your face,
Your brown hair backlit like the loom

That knits together pieces of our world
Copied in the corner of your eye,
That patches up the loose ends purled
From the coming winter in the sky,

The aimless patterns fingers weave
As easily as flowers leave,
Sowing next year’s pines around
The points of needles on the ground:

May these summer days be colorfast
And hold all of us in place at last.

March 2nd, 1996
Rewritten August 2nd, 1990, 12:40–12:54 PM, Cisco
September 14th, 1994, Tippet Alley