.
an eagle soars
out of the gift
in the palm of my hand
falling backwards
into a circle of friends
finding a lover
in my open arms
sometimes
I can’t see
the threads
until the cloth
is woven
hearing a Bear cry
when I stop
and listen
knowing mistakes
paid for thrice
seeing beauty
through another’s eyes
sometimes
I can’t see
those threads
until the cloth
is woven
the eagle soars
and the bear cries
a lover
in my open arms
and beauty
through another’s eyes
so many hands weave
the life I have chosen
sometimes
I can’t see
those threads
until the cloth
is woven
-isw
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