The Knitted

I smile upon this-
A simple hour, so blessed
With the infinite mysteries...
In certainty, of course!

Each stitch- a narrow room
Full of chatter and light,
Written books, even,
Meant for the smallest soul.

Here is the art of possible,
Pounding away at impossible
To nearly frayed thread.

I piece so many-
Little up-wind, down-wind,
Crevices of barely-shadow.
They open and close-for me-
In infinite variation.