Thursday, May 16, 2019

the fabric of things

I thought I’d lost you. But you said: I’m imbued
in the fabric of things, the way
that wax lost from batik shapes

the pattern where the dye won’t take.
I make the space around you,

and so allow you shape. And always
you’ll feel the traces of that wax
soaked far into the weave:
the air around your gestures,

the silence after you speak.
That’s me, the slight wind between
your hand and what you’re reaching for,
chair and paper, book or cup:

that close, where I am: between
where breath ends, air starts.

~ Mark Doty
art by: Dali