An ode to the things we have and the other things.
*****
The fabric of the world
Is frayed at the edges
And worn thin in the center
And has been mended in places,
Patched and darned over time,
As one must do
When there is no spare
Folded up in the closet,
Still crisp and creased,
Awaiting the day
The threads finally give way
And fall into the rag-bag.
So we tend the faded florals,
Caress the soft spots
That threaten to tear,
And lie as gently
As our nightmares will allow
Within its folds.
Tomorrow we awake.
Tonight we dream.
The fabric is stronger than its seams.
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