Steel and grain let escape,
Settling into the depths of the woven wool,
The citrus dust of the emerging art.

"Roll the blade like an ocean wave."
The regimental wooden curls advance on my vision
As my teacher's eyes take in the familiar sight.

As they fall, my mind wanders
Wonders of the flakes - was there no music in them?
Perfunctory: "You're doing well."

Maybe I would die like that too?
The grace, the courage?
Like an arching rebel of the grain.