We puzzle and tease
at loose ends of threads
on fraying edges of love
speaking as if worrying intellect
could possibly help us understand
the wordless strength of the weave
that makes up the mass of the fabric
as if by playing at picking apart
all of the overlapped threads
all of the engrained patterns
all of the blended shades and hues
we may somehow discover
their symbiotic strength,
then move forward, acting as if
deconstructed fibre remained whole.
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2 comments:
Hey, guess what!
This one actually makes sense to me!
Awwww, Short Guy. I bet you say that to all the semi-mythical coyotes...
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