I look at the tapestry
I see the lines and the folds
The cracks and stitches of old
The stories of patchwork told

And in its stitched lines
The marks and colours of time
The bolts and divots of rhyme
Expanding to cover the sky

The blots and stitches swell me
Their cracked colours overwhelm me
The singing stories they’re telling
All dots and lines of tapestry

So that when these moments pass
What’s left is a winding path
Too grand to understand
Prickling to feel, crushing to comprehend.

3.X.2024