Making Wings that Open

Take the laces from my mourning cloak
for time is open to all seasons as this grass yields
to bare feet and the dew that is not yet frozen
is a giver of memory from the ground then gone
as lit by time the tree has defended the sky beyond

See the very hope of children in the den
with the rhythm of music humming within their bones
their galloping moves in me with the climb of knowledge
for so many steps I've lost to the ill-fit shoe and yet
counting one and two I can't erase the path nor find the gate

Could there be a God within this place of sky
the birds have come and gone and left me flight
yet nowhere to go to find the invisible thread
I yearn to sew but tangle lines instead

There is a pattern single and worthy
feeling silken on the inside lining lost at thirty
where the grace of giving stretch is comfort chosen
as hand to hand together love is spoken
and the sound grinds this dirt and tears together
within a garden's shelter with fence unbroken
planted with a million words and flowing
then finally making wings that open