The Least Figure
I tried to think of some way to let my face become yours. “Could I whisper in your ear the dream I’ve had? You’re the only one I’ve told this to.” You tilt you’re head, laughing, as if, “I know the trick you’re hatching, but go ahead.”
I am an image you stitch with gold thread on tapestry, the least figure, a playful addition.
But nothing you work on is dull.
I am part of the beauty.