[Image from Montana Mountain Knitting Needles]
A needle in each hand, single strands of
wool becoming one, changing to a whole.
If only time could be unravelled; love
could be reknit, guided to not take toll
as it often did. Such power a dove
would fall for, lust for a beating heart all
consumed by equal passion: as above,
so below. The needles clicked, mind a squall,
yarn over fingers threaded, creating
here and now changed material. Meanwhile,
thoughts knitted into an intricate thing
a plan, a project of emotion: bring
together, tie a knot, start again. Mile
on mile tread, seek that lost soul, heart’s own kin.
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2015]