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Sewn

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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