Steady footing can be hard to recognize
Even ground beneath difficult to apprise
It needn't be perfect
And of course rarely is
'Cause two sheets of paper
Can’t fit together like this.
It's groves that make the needle move
Cracks that give us something to hang on to
Hairs that make a yarn feel soft,
Brushstrokes' texture that sends hearts aloft.
It's the lumps in the batter
A loaf's crisp, burnished ear
Though looks may still matter
It's texture to which I draw near.