all the love I’ve lost
in weaving, weaving yesteryear
at once I thought
was free and fearless
irrevocably cost me dear
but still was somehow mine
I thought it blown aloft
and glinting light in wintershine
all the love I’ve lost
and all the threads I’ve bared
in my darker moments I would wonder
if they ever cared
and then the wind would whistle in
and rustle woven garments here
in yesteryear
would carry through the narrow canyons
narrators of love and loss
and frost and spring
and then I would begin to think
perhaps there was a deeper thing
a fabric so complex and soft
that when it instead was lifted off
and borne as flag and history
would float so gently in the midst
of me - the mist of grief and poignancy
sewn, severed, knotted, known
in textures that we never wove
til now