for: National Poetry Month,
a new effort, not from Two Ghosts.
One thread, tattered, lies hidden
beneath the surface of the tapestry.
Stand away from the wall
The guard protects the expanse
atop the marble steps.
Stand back from the wall.
The needlepoint, on tour,
gathers round it
the rapt consideration of centuries.
A vista of woven Unicorns,
the carpet first adorned a breezy
when each Duchess
dropped a stitch every hundred years.
One thread, never pulling free,
not attached to the heart,
a fiber serving no known purpose,
Not a bit of it seen,
not being there to the eye,
like being alive and not being somebody,
not only not famous
but a filament detached, floating unbound,
waiting within its perception
to be christened.
c copyright / all rights reserved