Every thing comes
from some where,
briefly abides and moves on
to still another where
and when, claims pronouns
along the way, or is already
(or instead), exactly what
or whom we believe
or pretend, they (or it) appear
to be, except for the story
we have not heard,
the trajectory we have ignored
or failed to see; anyway
adding depth and texture,
frequency and flow,
to the common weave,
stretching wide, raveling
as it does and will, marking heart
beat and recovery, holding up
and wearing thin, the grand tapestry
we inherit, whether or not we reach out
to claim what we have been given.
