This started out as some things do
One wispy wire
One thin, lone shoot
And it spread ahead before me
And where I used to run, it outran me

Many buzzing fights that we all contain
Many many-veined and cellophane
We are twisted from fibers, wound to thread
And we will wind ourselves til we’re dead

That black boil weighs like a pit of ink
And it sits in many chests, where it sags and sinks
I know it well, it knows me
But it has known many more before me

From our tissues and from our strands
Sits a figure with outstretched hands
Saying we can sit solitary
We can crouch in sanctuary

Or we can gather
Our threads into rope
And pull