The way a robin or oriole
might weave string or yarn
into its nest to create integrity
or an anchor, that is the way
I weave an imaginary red ribbon
through each square
on the zoom screen.
My friend has just invoked
a Japanese legend
about how we are all connected
by a red thread, and though
I have not heard this legend before,
I can imagine a deep crimson stitching
moving even now through all
of our backgrounds,
making of this gathering
a most wondrous nest,
a sturdy place made of wet poems
and fresh music, song and mess,
a durable creation in which we might
all rest, a sturdy, safe place
to find spaciousness.