Knitting Zen

If I knew the pattern, I would knit you socks
With the days of the week knitted in, and your
Initials, and clocks with the time of day.

I would knit in poems of love yet to be,
The words of all your songs,
And colored threads that the birds would steal to make nests

I would knit the dictionary into your socks,
The lives of the saints, and
The meanings of dreams.

And I would wind them 'round with sunlight and honey,
Teas made from rosehips and coriander
And prayers.

They would keep you warm and safe,
Buoyed by love and soft wool,
Never let anything harm you,
Never wear out.

Not knowing how to knit such socks,
I write poetry.
And practice.

--WGC, 11/14/03