Liz
Houchin

               when I lose my way

               I close my eyes

               like a horse in fire

               and let my fingertips

               follow your haptic trail

               of cotton and wool

               cresting and falling

               a bedform rippled by yarn

               you lead me on, lulled

               by the grid, then surprise me

               with a twist in the road—

               a brocade overlays

               your past leaving it blind

               but only to the eye

               the weave reveals

               your truth to my thumb

               and I see now

               the fragility

               of our surface

               to the end we are handmade

               two hempen home-spuns

               our knotted story     fraying        free