I wrap three stones in red
// Ellen White Rook
Today the sun stretches
instead of rising
sends dull metal clouds
to look for corners
at the hard edge
I don’t want to stand in the quiet line
cut the red cloth
whisper ink
to words
Fingers grip bone and spoiled
muscle aches
The needle disappears
into the eye
I spin wool
into a honey cap
warm and sweet as blankets
before rising
I stitch ties to the cast-off square
to make an apron bib
I leave the red-dressed stones
with offerings
pocket filled with the script
of every wish
Come to grief
Return tides to the ocean
river to the stones
It’s not even a shadow
the moon holds