John Crutchfield


It started as a veil
drawn down between myself
& an inquiring stranger,
— so thin, so transparent
I scarcely saw it, though
off & on there came
a shimmer, swift, cold
& then the looming years,
the necessary weave
& tuck of truth’s threads
produced at last a fabric
so rich, so beautiful,
like glass darkly colored,
& I can still just trace
the vague forms & gestures
out there in the light.