Linen's Soul to the Wind

Clothes spread out, on a clear morning,
linen and cotton, white and pure.
They hang waiting for a faint calling,
between taut threads and walls secure.

Then comes the breath, an invisible friend,
and every fiber wakes, trembling and swelling.
No longer weight inert, but ancient
a round pulse that refreshes the sky’s dwelling.

A silent waltz, a slow floating motion,
through knots of sunlight and shadows that run.
Each fold is a story, each movement
a light breath supporting memory’s function.