winding from the ink of a vision -- continuous.
Delicate tapestries of creation,
Bridges of vulnerable truth and profound intention.
Sweet breeze and dirty earth,
We, caught in loops of a collective story
fables and old wives tales
a wooden spoon
a spirit stick
a telegraph line
a totem pole.
Somewhere within the pages, we are found
and being woven
and being written
And though we forget, we are not forgotten
somewhere along the way -
or rather, glimpse.
The undeniable nature of it all
how way leads on to way
And always will,
within the words of a poet