The Eye of the Needle

The authentic acuity of my vision
was never in doubt, for in our
childhood together, both fourteen,
it was he who wore corrective lenses,
never me, and I was tasked to parse
dim distant legends with the
accuracy of an eagle's sight.

Fully sixty years later, his vision
remains as it once was, and I am
now dependent on his balming patience
to enable me to perform the rudest
sewing tasks, from a hand that could
once guide a needle to execute the
most delicately exquisite of
beadwork and embroidery.

Try as I may, with angle and
intent, repeated stabs and altered
direction, the eye of the needle
remains as elusive as my once
unerring eyesight. And I am time
and again prevailed upon by him
to render thread and needle to
his smiling, confident marriage
cojoining the needle and thread.