O basket of beads fallen
from broken thread, you
weigh on me, make your
presence imperative.
You are richer than jade;
your deep greens, your
swirls, create a map
a heavy legacy.
They say you are worn
to detect impending danger.
Where were you when I lived
in your country of origin?
They say gazing at or holding
you relaxes nerves, calms
stormy emotions, gives
patience. I found you too late.
Are you as clever a conductor
as your companion, copper?
Then take my regrets, replace
them with power to forget.
Only then will I pick up
needle and waxed thread
re-invent your beauty from
nothing but each single bead.
No comments:
Post a Comment