Crochet
David L. White
She sat there thinking of pond flies,
she sat there looking at pond flies,
she sat there pulling a needle through crochet,
pulling thread through imperceptible holes,
looping worsted through
horizontal, through
vertical,
single knot,
double knot,
but the night comes on suddenly,
black trees pasted on suddenly a cerulean sky.
She sat there thinking of pond flies,
she sat there looking at pond flies,
she sat there pulling a needle through crochet,
and the night came on like a cataract,
and the night came on like a thread.
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