This fragment had a life that's past - or is there meaning still?
Its presence here beneath the eaves
confronts me. Requires me to seek and know:
Do you - frail, poignant thing - care now for me?
And should I now have love for you?
Can I perhaps give love anew?
Enjoy (as someone did) your threads,
your unrelenting hue?
Or hurt some woman's heart
beating within myself, if
banishing you forever,
I banish her - a little more?
Can a thing (stitches - shape - design)
translate the un-thing, human life?
Here we are - just us two
on one unsettling day in time.
Only a shadow in the morning's feeble light
to tell and not to tell
what it is you mean to me -
But in a dream, an ancestor smiles -
she who traveled west, taking nothing but
the compact baggage of her memories and love
"the which," she said,
"had proved sufficient
in the end."
Instantly, from her unseen reticule,
more is given me for sustenance
on journeys of my own
than all the trunkloads full of treasure
I have worshipped,