February 5, 2016

And so every night, Penelope undid the threads of her weaving of the day before,
Carefully, delicately, pulling apart the warp from the woof,
Separating the yarns of sky-blue and sea green,
Yarns as green as the olive tree leaves,
Yarns as purple as the grapes,
Preparing to weave them together again in the morning

And here in the morning
I weave together this new cloth
From threads both old and new
Knowing that your ship will not return to the harbor
And that I must pick up threads from our life together

The yellow of the young honey of our early lives
The red and purple of the busy, tumultuous years
The calm blues of our lives as time slowed down

Weaving into the new cloth the cut threads of your life
Until they melt into the cloth and shine as richly

As the morning sun