WEAVING
When my mother sits
on her sheepskin,
weaving a blanket on her loom
I think it is like a song.
The warp threads
are the drum beats,
strong sounds
underneath.
The colored yarns
are the singing words
weaving through
the drum beats.
When the blanket is finished
it is like a finished song.
The warp
and the drum beats,
the colored wools
and the singing words
are forgotten.
Only
the pattern
of color
and of sound
is left.
