The warp and The weft

The warp

warped Yorkshire
when it rained.
Wet sheep.
My dad,
painting in oil
drained the ground
of greens and blues.
I drew
with a common
black pencil
in front of him
I left for London.

The weft

wove me close to one
man twice.
We took off.
Argentina,
staring through the eyes
of an angora
goat, handed me
colored yarn,
a teacher.
In wool
I was told
to paint Yorkshire.



I had the pleasure of composing this poem for Karen. From one artist to another. Enjoy!