(with apologies to Gordon)
I have poured my truth
Minute by minute
Hour by hour
Year by year
Into vessels of art
Songs
Novels
Essays
Poems
Each capped with its own seal
The maker’s mark
A breadcrumb
In a vast forest of like vessels
For a long time
Filling one bottle
Would precipitate reaching for another
The spillover
So much to say
Too much for a lifetime
Odd
That as I look at them all now
It is as if from a great distance
And I see
A sort of completeness
A grand tapestry
One work, into which every ounce
Of truth I had to give
Was distilled
And concentrated
Taken as a whole
I am proud
And am not entirely sure
The quilt needs new squares
