“Kites Woven in Yarn” We Write Poems #93: Finger painting

l
While I sleep, my
fingers trace ocean
maps, aerial

on papier-mâché,
where tulips thrive
an alabaster winter

I disperse delicate
petals, exposing
colour’s spread,

filching the smooth
surfaces as I count
backward

ll
In mornight I see
her in an embroidered
rocking chair;

she hums, content,
busyness in her hands;
knit one, purl two

weaving rainbows,
hands of springtime,
a hint of clicks (echoing),

perfection’s bending
angle; rose polished
nails, she continues

harmonious,
her bones stitched
within my hands

lll
Sometimes, during
the evening, there’s
vagueness; redolent,

it represents soliloquy —
broken drafts, messages
swept into ether

as dusty moments
eclipse doors ‘neath
sunset’s symmetry

Placing a pen in hand,
my wrist curves toward
these fingers, drawing
salt from my skin