Stitches
There has been extravagance in speech
and every spilled, exploded word has been a stitch
in a blanket made for an imaginary baby.
The words went south where the sun was, but
stayed hungry.
A name came in the third month. A face followed.
A hair type, a footprint, but the stitches showed.
Imagination's cloth too coarsely woven
for life to catch and cover stitching over.
And then blood. Inevitable, true.
Simple and strong enough to cut all falsehood
through.
Later the screen said darkness - no spine, no heart.
And the stitches came apart.
From Between Here and There (2002)
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