Heavy Threads

When the dawn unfolds like a bolt of ribbon Thrown through my window, I know that hours of light Are about to thrust themselves into me Like omnivorous needles into listless cloth, Threaded with the heavy colours of the sun. They seem altogether too eager To embroider this thing of mine, My Day, Into the strict patterns of an altar cloth; Or at least to stitch it into a useful garment.

But I know they will do nothing of the kind. They will prick away. And when they are through with it It will look like the patch quilt my grandmother made When she was learning to sew.