We had unravelled into a pile
Almost unteaseable
For pulling too tight.
Pinning my memory at the moment
I met you,
I could tell by the hang of your weft
That you weren’t warped.
With our evenings tatters gathered
And the patches of love.
Where do we find them?
Each word, invisible mending
Each kiss shuttling love between
The threadbare and the rich.
And patient fingers
Unpicking the Gordions
And hooking through older times –
Golden moments in this broken tapestry
Now mended
