In Safe Hands   A woven blanket wraps me round— warmth of touch, of sight and sound:   songs as you work at the kitchen sink; you telling me plainly what you think   again; a rustle of pages while you read; the rock of your knee within the bed;   the slightest snuffle as you sleep; your chest for refuge whenever I weep;   two old brown shoes, parked on the mat, what could be more reassuring than that?         Klimt in the Courtyard: Woman in Gold   Glittering down the tree, the sunlight on the…