After Embroidering

I can take mercerized cotton And make a never-flower beautiful By thinking of tulips growing in windowboxes; I can work into cloth A certain hushed softness From an imagined scrutiny Of a lily's skin, And embroider conventional designs the better For thinking of brick garden paths.

But if I go farther, If I follow the path. Fling out the gate, Plunge one breathless thought over an horizon . . . My hands lose their cunning.