A needle, a thimble, a canvas.
a fine line of damp sand between soaked and not,
a drop of old salt to meet new wounds,
a wild freedom that cannot be hung.
A needle, a thimble, a canvas.

Thread together the torn teddies,
the favorite brass buttons,
the rusted gold earrings,
the letters unopened, still waiting.
These are patches on the vest of the ocean floor.

The vastness of the littered basement
has many secrets yet,
but some holes cannot be filled.