cutting wool for blankets

Only love can be divided endlessly and still not diminish.― Anne Morrow Lindbergh


cutting wool for blankets- to make love
loom larger than life--as often as we
divide substance, with growing room

in between to dissipate strife-
letting in life- in blood, music,
perfumed incense,  stupas, and looms

to pour provincial expressions
of what ever it is
that one bows down to

whatever it is that one yearns for more of--
until the final curtain of our days-
deciding not to choose anything--just watch

the sparks fly higher than our present consciousness
we reach the height of sparks in dreams
that furnish our soul's hunger

in shades of rose wood and tawny maple
sweet dreams, wished upon by others:
tapped out in morse code acapella,

to awaken the dots, and dash
our written word into tangible
action to let wild, make tame

in the same sweet style, the same sweet game-
the holy way of the tao tells us how
to remain still, while remembering the dream

that would alter our lives forever, without
doing more than shining
a light where the dust bunnies go scampering

Kate Lamberg

photo of southwest rug, by Kate Lamberg~