keening
Posted to Poetry
by rain70 on 2003-08-11 07:38:00
Cleaning the blades
I protect you from
By gifting them now
They're yours. I turn
Over and over in my
Hand the thought
Of honing a cure
Without an edge
Which is like
A needle
Pulling sides together, a point
Made by fingers
to the mind,
Which never listens
But has no choice in
Who's speaking because
It's all one stitch.
