you are there always stitching
the traces of silk
flashing silver needle
subtle and fast hands

your needle lacing
four hands
four feet
[I'm] daily seeing and looking for the
soft fine silk the feel of you

in the morning roll into afternoon siesta
we eat soft-boiled eggs
spoon in bed to mouth
newwords of another tongue and my tongue

Daily, I, gather
the fabric, loops of threads and scraps
that collect in my rooms
to be wrapped in yards of
silk fever colored
translucent, embedded with waves of oceans
in places thick as a bed
strands weaving out connect midnight A trains

sewing sowing
puckering the silk, with needle precision
you pull the thread
embroidering love in silken glances
arrowing the third eye