They Made Things

They made things
with their hands
and eyes
and hearts
that were filled
with grace
and minds
that could just be
while fingers
nimbly threaded
needles
with thread
the color
of the sky
or sometimes
of a red rose
or a pink carnation
to embroider
flowers and leaves
and trees
and words
that were read
again and again
silently
by eyes
staring
and fingers
that had never
threaded a needle
inside quiet
museums
in cities
that framed
what was left
of a distant
holy grace.