{On, In, And Around Mondays} The weaving

They became holy the moment we opened ourselves to them
the house
the bar stool
the floor
all of you

At first, it was in the waiting.
Then, in the turning.

Leaden skies, for which we had prayed and hoped and dreamed, stood at the ready
groaning and flashing at the weight of it all
Yet, there you were
the answer
to what had been rippling and singing below
for years 
despite our best efforts to quiet it 


Because how can you really deaden songs from the deep?


And so
for hour upon lovely hour
we remembered how to loosen the wraps
and to again
lay bare
that which we had kept draped

Old wine passed over new lips
and in the drinking...
miracles

We spoke of lives shared
of how
once you are a gift
you never stop getting
and the lilt and timbre of the words
rang like psalms

And a new wisdom
was birthed
a collective knowing
emerged
that who we always thought we were
is not inked in blood
but rather
expands
and
works itself out
Each incarnation
folds one into another
and stacked together
there is
movement

And there is grace

So we let you keep traveling
even though there is a knowing
that your journey
might separate us
might further pull
at the ways we are fastened

I turn to see the dust following you
You
headed West
chasing the sun
and I throb somewhere deep


Instinctively
I finger the raised thread
you've embroidered
with stitches crossed
one over the other
and it is then
that I know

we are still weaving

Linking with L.L. Barkat