Posted by: scintillatingspeck | March 29, 2014

Dropped stitches.

because I write to add concatenations
loops of endless yarns on clacking needles
an observer on the fibrous fringes of meaning

when stitches inevitably fall
like a warm, woolen illusion
pulled back to the keen bite of cold
there’s a jolt in the fabric of time

it may yet require forbearance
mute breath
the whispered advice of dead grandmothers
to mend the rend

the only tools at hand
some crooked sticks
and a muddy lexicon




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