silk
Once again, we move toward a false neatness,
a water-warped letter of intent,
creases deepening to tears.
Obligation first,
to our lives,
then (you may protest this)
to the patterned longing
that runs slack,
then taut — red silk fraying where impatient teeth worry it.
We ignore
the permission
our will grants
toward contradiction.
The mind
inside the body’s hold,
touched in memory,
refused in words.
We seek to forget,
then rage
at the degradation of the ineffable —
mimicry of a love song, frayed at the refrain.
I sink deeper
into my ways,
testing their edges,
letting them hold me
or unmake me, hovering at the point where refusal tilts toward want.
I press my thumb into the tear
until it opens —
edges warm,
enough space
for something unsummoned to enter.