Exchange of Preservation

Threads begin to split,

worn down from sheltering me.

My needle pricks the fabric,

weaving through its imperfections.

The threads run from perfection

recorded by the many marks

of bright stitches.

They dance around the warm spill,

their antly attraction chronicled—

like a step in wet concrete.

The once lonely scraps,

condemned to categorical uselessness, 

now striking and Purposeful

by my loving, nurturing hand:

An exchange of preservation. 

Gathered thread

mirror gathered thoughts:

Fullness in art and Artist,

depth dug in soil

split by the grave

of modern temptations.

Once perfect yet replaceable,

Now preaching the gospel of clarity.