I tried to think of some way

to let my face become yours.

“Could I whisper in your ear

a dream I’ve had?  You’re the only one

I’ve told this to.”

You tilt your head, laughing,

as if, “I know the trick you’re hatching,

but go ahead.”

I am an image you stitch with gold thread

on a tapestry, the least figure,

a playful addition.

But nothing you work on is dull.

I am part of the beauty.