People like You and I
Are depressed
Into the tensions
Of the threads of fabric
Weaving this world, together.
Not because our hair looks crooked.
Or a blemish perched on our nose
Today.
Not because of he said she said;
But because of the wrinkle
This tapestry indents our
Insomniac faces
With.
We ask questions of the World.
Expect of her:
More vibrancy!
Tighter stitches!
No loose threads
To get caught
On the corner
Of the door-hinge, on my way out.
And so, she weighs us down:
Letting people trample her as they do.
And sometimes she overwhelms us:
Generous with her overflowing warmth.
We possess the Artists’ Eye:
To be an artist is to be continuously heartbroken;
And thus–
In…love
At each discovery of new beauty
And subsequent death
And the uncovering of the loss of Things.
Reliving those cycles
over
and over
and over:
Falling in love
Losing
Loosening:
With people
With objects
With poetry
With flowers
With Self…
With all of creation:
A gloriously knitted trampoline
To soar beyond, from
Until we are called in, for bed
Oct 23, 2020