in the last light
knots untie
not by themselves of course
but carefully
with delicate fingers
and patience
I close my eyes
to work on the worst parts
the torn pages
torn pieces
forgotten
and buried
silk threads fall
through my fingers
undo the tapestry
as it hangs on the wall
across from me
watching
picking at the threads
do I know the worst parts
without knowing the best
asking threads to stop
weaving in and out
stop creating
makes no sense
no questions
in the last light
until the first
I let the threads fall
and begin weaving again.
lei fraser 