You walk into a room where the women gather, knitting stockings others will grow into. Nothing comforts like the steady clicking of needles. Ecclesiastes said there is a time for all things. I only want to know the final pattern, the right fit. What if we dance in an autumn field where the moon is nowhere to be found? The women gone to their beds leave lamb's wool by the fire, everything coming undone, dogs racing into the heart of their immaculate rooms. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WALLS DO NOT FALL: 4 by HILDA DOOLITTLE IMPROMPTU LINES ON JULY FOURTH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS CRYING, 'THALASSUS!' by JOSEPH AUSLANDER ON A CHILD SLEEPING IN CYNTHIA'S LAP by PHILIP AYRES PSALM 87 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE INDIAN SUMMER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD NORTH WIND IN OCTOBER by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |