A poem By: 

I concentrate to hold the needle as it weaves
through the bright fabric of a favourite skirt.

Thinking about an unspoken line
like a hidden thread of thought
connecting this inner conversation
to the outer worlds to
which I belong –
and to those with whom I will soon converse.

The invisible threads of a
summer drawing to a close as a
more visible world calls for my attention –
like a donkey bray
leading me
back to where I belong.