the red coat was hiding under layers, but i saw it. red it is, worn, shabby. a friend you say. lining cream silk crumple. the label harris tweed, heather washed, as old. the back a thin satin sash to tie. …

much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely.   use the brain. remembering strong wrapping paper in folded sheets.   woolworths.   i have a modern roll that tears easily, yet now …

a meditation on thread, mediation of red, i dream of you.   clearly your clothes remain the same, worn, washed, pressed.   your ideas come different, you talk of immersion, and security, nothing was further from my mind.

remember the  old things, ways.   people needles and pins. hold on the shawl, wrapped round, pinned close, stay safe.   be well in your mending, despite the pain, raddled cotton threads.   pinned  to hold life, rusty hinges, prepared …

another day of counting, numbers. some escape the concious gaze, while some are far remembered. numbers incorrect, we move our gaze to mirrors. slanted the world looks pleasant, thread and buttons surround. this is not a metaphor..

the dream, the threads parted a while. visitors came, the day proceeded gently with stops and dictation, who is this?


we worried over news, trembled a while, gathered back the warp, the weft. today we continue.

sbm.