(for Terri Wolf, fabric artist extraordinaire)

Issac Newton never envisioned a color wheel
like this: yards of fabric folded into neat squares,

lined up horizontally on seven shelves, slender
volumes of possibility nestled together in a

full-spectrum rainbow—red, orange, yellow,
green, blue, indigo, violet. Two more shelves

of patterns, top and bottom, call to Terri
as she pauses, runs her fingers over ones

that call to her, looking for the next right
piece. Amid such a wealth of material,

I ask, how does she choose? It’s like
finding the right word for a poem, she says.

You pull something out, unfold it,
consider it, refold it, tuck it back.

Eventually, the right one chooses you,
though perhaps not in that moment.

Sir Issac, who figured out the color
spectrum in 1704, arranged the hues

in a circle to show which follows which,
and which complements which,

a man who understood the permutations
of in between, of locating, say, the just

right shade of blue, as Terri finds in a piece
of cloth before her. She will cut it, stencil

tree rings onto the fiber, sew slender
strips reminiscent of alders wintering

outside her large studio window onto
the new square, which will become

a quarter of a larger square. If I look closely,
the scent of sleeping trees rises with

words embedded in the textile alders’
trunks, forming a tiny found poem:

leaves dance in delight,
joy awaits with morning,
shine light for all to see.

may meaning shower
pure love on you—
precious, beautiful life.