My needle’s thread is long and slow;
As a needle goes a thread must go,
And lame and blind a needle is,
Weighed with a mood’s profundities.

My needle’s thread is long and slack;
A thread must travel a needle’s track,
And a needle leads an aimless course
Laboring against the force
Of gathering thought . . . 
A needle’s thread will not be taut
When every stitch is made to feel
Pressure upon the needle’s steel
Of coldly flowing reality,
Fluent as waters that find the sea.

My needle’s thread is long and slack;
A needle is foiled and driven back
To feel, among its threads, the strands
Of life moving through losing hands.