I used to look for answers
in the warp and weft around
wondered what this fabric would be like
once each crease and pull had been
ironed flat, stretched out, stitched good.
The expanse of cloth was so endless it
hurt my eyes to keep looking
and all direction pulled me
’til I’d spun a skein of doubts
and arguments so thick their
soft accretion left me suffocated.
But every spool has a core
an empty space at its dead centre
where the dynamo that clothed it
finds the peace it needs to pivot on
the point of light in this vast swathe
that veils like night and we’re
the pinpricks in it where the Infinite
decided to break through the cloth
of matter so we’d see.
Instead of looking for my needs out on
savannahs of plain cloth, I looked
into the emptiness within to catch
a heartful of that Light and then
the landscape fell quite smooth,
caught diamonds as they thundered
from the sky. They are
the grains that form as Light contracts
upon our atmosphere, the mirrored discs
we sew upon our dress to make like
we’re that night, here are our stars,
to spin our skirts and get tangled again
instead of staying still and owning nothing.
This is the night. We are its stars.