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

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for nicolle

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