It's amazing
this complex ribbon
of intertwining air.
The years that wind
through frayed threads,
the words that cut them;
spoken or silent.
One night,
an alteration,
an epiphany -
the truth.
The knots unwound
with the slightest touch.
How incredible
to see
these multitudes of colour,
variations of rainbows
never noticed before.
There is bitter black
and deep ink 
of the coldest indigo
but then there is
gold.
But what tapestry
do we weave
now that we have the means?
What picture 
do we pierce,
what image
do we create?
Questions underlaid
with lashings of hope
and I hope that we 
begin.