At 5:52am there’s no time
to tell you
about the love lessons

is only a swirl of symbols
colliding and collecting
threads I’m still following

a basket full of pictures
of a hugging saint.
extraterrestrials and angels,
an oh-so-earthly
sculpted bicep
tattooed with a single rose.

I am touched
despite the plan.

My throat opens to hum
“How Come You Never Go There?”
how come I think I can
then can’t?
the insistent
to try.

heart-blossoming oils
rubbed into rough heels
shooting stars
– we both saw it –
pumpkin soup

pages of words
not for here

these threads could be woven
to cover you
in a blanket of love
a most epic poem
to wrap you
in what’s real

if I could weave these symbols
you’d know
by feeling
that haven
of your heart
your home

beaming and brimming
with joy
of remembering
what’s true
in you
and together
in that moment
writer and reader
we would be in love

where the saints say
we always are
we’ve just forgotten

so as I try to recall
and live
the vibrant
pumping heart
of wild openness
and infinite curiosity
loving loving loving

don’t stop

I will keep practicing my craft
of weaving threads
to touch that time
when I can truly tell you

courtesy of ingermaaike2

2 thoughts on “Weaving the Blanket

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