Stitch me in time to cutting incisions,
cross the room with your suture line,
sew me deftly, cocooned in blanket
stitch me. With your elaborate threads of colour
embroider, push me gently through time,
go blind or back, zig zag while running.
Thread a buttonhole around the knot of me,
press needle through linen, through body tissue,
with fingers gloved or cupped in silver.
Feel the pressure of fine steel piercing muscle memory,
repair the seams, ripped flesh unspeakable and torn,
of snapped and cracked bones plain-purl, knit me
use kintsugi. Weave me back and forth, untangle me,
collect earthy reeds and sedges entwine and plait me,
bring serrated margins closer, let them be touching.
Stitch me in time, save nine, my star is dying.
If you have no dexterity velcro me, coarsely mend me,
press nylon into waiting room wounds, clasp me.
Hold me together, let our borders touch
our tears soothe the dry need for love,
darn this gash of death, sponge the blood.
Spin the wheel, turn flax to thread, repair me,
stitch the ripped seams of life, lover cradle me,
let our edges be touching