I build a pattern with my life, Strung long ago, the weaving pattern fixed in heddle-chains of wire...

A kindled flame adds strength to its length at each gentle stroke...

Long waves now frozen high and hard on sand, Divorced from an angry broken mass of sea Still seek a freedom of movement foreign to land-...

Pre-schoolers of Mommies carrying tennis rackets and manhattans could not swim...

Invade my being gently...