simonhlilly

A LOOM, A STITCH LOST

Each time
I read the words
Of Angus
The paths
Of my brain
Meet the dance
Of my tongue
A taste
Of delight,
Sound sculpted
In silence
A dance,
A dance,
An expulsion
Of gestures
A condensation
Of landscapes
A world
Falling
Out of solution
Like diamond
Clear
Crystals.

And my own
Weave
Emerges,
Upon
My own loom,
Shuttles fly:

Today
One more stitch
Lost
From the cloth
Of this life.
One more certainty
Dissolved,
One life
Lost:
Memory only
Clinging on:
Fingers of
What if
Fingers of
Maybe.

With sleep,
Letting go.
The wind outside,
The rain
The hail
Demarcating
In turn
Each four walls
Of this uncertain house,
Home yet
For a while

And then
The journey onward
The journey unknown
Together
Or alone
Drifting
In slow shoals
Forgetting
Our names,
Wind borne
Water borne
Sighing
Starwards.