Stitch

Stitch

How my word works in ear on eye to dress
I want no daytime food, not seconds, thirds,
leverage, not force, my texture, sentence
escape unwanted beds and houses.

I found a thread down legs, soon in dresses,
when I take a color it makes all corners good,
when I stitch a word it catches eyes and heavy lids,
woman's youth, man's age;

what was wished in eyes and then made hard,
what was seen at night but lost on waking,
what walked by day and then moved on;
it must be sharp, not seconds, thirds,

no slight of hand space-age ray gun,

no weaving closed on inner cupboards
tease who may reach or keep its cellars
the string in ear to other houses shelters
lips as sheath beneath all lids

now stitched as shout in me and blade.