for bridgette, alyce, hadassah,
 and all the rest of me
 
I/we spin poems from
multi-colored
seeds we've sown

the dreams come,
but the fabric
is
misshapen
and torn

my waking hours bring
no rhyme
& even less reason

I/we weave words
to soothe hurt
ease pain
make love

which brings
the rain
again

I/we see
with my fingertips
sounds I utter
don't come from
our lips

stitching together
pictures
from the silhouette
of souls

against the wall
above a feather
bed

makes manifest
past-present
future
of everything
I ever heard

said

I/we weave/spin
on a wheel
within a wheel
whirling
circles
round
my selves
creating
tapestry

surreal

don't wake us
& don't fear
it's the sanity
of a poet

we love it here