Rising

We were rising.

With every thread tied together, by those who wanted to catch hold —

Those with knotted breath and clasped hands 

Weaving together a dream, cast out into a sea of stars —

The hope in beaded eyelashes, droplets splattered on a web of silk.

The web of silk, as a lonely sail, catching light fashioned from distant reaches —

The artists, flying out to greet them

As others and I squint to find the way, we use the lost and leftover twine 

To knit the veiling clouds —

And the poet envisions it all,

From her lookout sailing on a forgotten sea