Monday, February 7, 2011

259. s|e|o|e|w|i|n|g|i|t|i|n|t|o

& hemmed
& snowwhite

7 stitches held
the hem &
her fingers’d

even w/o blood
there was pain
in the fissures
of the fingers

that is the way
sewing works
in a string &
a sequence

& how
2 things
are held

by the willing
intention of
a 3rd & how
night & streetlight

are held together
by these stitches
of snow falling
in the rhythm

of sewing
in the way
she scatters seeds
& sees the pattern

that they fall
to th’earth
for her fingers
are crack’d

& her eyes
through the forms
of sleeplessness

we call dream
& each burst
of blackness at
the temporary

of an eye is
a black stitch
that brings back

the pieces of
so she can believe

there’s a fabric
to her seeing
that weaves
it all t’gether

it was the fingers
that did it &
brought every
piece upon every

piece & her eyes
that held it
in the stitches
of her breathing

in the rhythm
of her thinking
& the pulse
of a heart

that pulls the blood
& pushes it on
in the pattern
of stitching

that she hears
even when she cannot
see it b/c
her eyes are closed

so she can feel
the humming
of sewing
through her fingertips

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