Distended over this like a shadow set to descend
wavering over the hand to hand construct
and hearing the sound of heart like a click
of meeting needles, weaving solid tangible existence
from gathered string, the yarning of memories
balled and it's all an unravelling
designed to deliver me into pliable futures, give me
a version of you I can stitch into the walls of my lungs,
turn my voice into skill sharpened against a dream,
a searching for stories towards a truth.
But even a thoughtful construct
is an illusion of solidarity;
if you look closer, closer (closer)
you'll see as many holes
leading to stark open breathless air
as there are threads clasping us together
if we break one strand of this
suffer one small severence,
how far will the line lead back,
how completely will we unravel?
My skin is my fabric is you
I can not peel what is a boundary line of life
without such endless loss.