Tapestry

sometimes when silence is ringing about my ears

i imagine you across the river, weaving a tapestry

where a story dances in bright colors—how you sit

working your bones, making them creek

with every last plucking and lacing of the wool

from your mystic flocks. how so these stitches come up

with roughness in your voice, the shining of your

untuned tongue, the one whose deadly pearl teeth

clench as your knuckles bend and break over yarn.

sometimes when silence haunts me for years

i roll up your kindred tale, the one soiled and free

from the bitterness of sour fruits and peach pits

from wounded trees where for truth you seek

refuge in the shade—the delightful singing in the cool

darkness and a sip from a maple leaf as a cup

that God has stricken with crisp rain waters. he pours

them down, watering the grass and trees with His wreath

of flowers adorned with your story, your blanket, and stars.