secret to weaving

I have slept without
even a single scrap
to call dream

I have remembered
so little of my childhood
that I might as well
have been a cabbage

instead

I have looked forward
to things that may
or may not be taken
from tomorrow

I have stopped
at imaginary docks
and cupped black water

I have combed
silver thread from thistles
in ragged fields

but

never known the secret
to weaving

and instead

it seems

built my home
upon a splice in time.

8 thoughts on “secret to weaving

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