We wove on separate looms all day
the fabric spread upon our nights
to keep the chill of solitude away.
The warp was hope;
intention was the woof.
Come night we made rich love
‘til sleep relaxed our grip on it
no matter the longing to meld
unraveling it for dreams to take
until at dawn it was all gone
leaving us our piles of threads
and the same tasks again.
384 ®Copyright 1974 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.