Once I told you "we were cut
from the same cloth". Your sleepy
eyes, your father fury, the quiet
blindness of your dreams.
How could I know your threads
were loose, your heart re-coiled
and I was left with nothing but
a child's balloon cut free.
Now I weep and sew, a seamstress
with an old and fading coat
with scissors merciless and honed
to wear another winter though
the fibers never join.