Ah, the enchanting thread—
not the way it connects everyone
but how we’re so enamored
over the part connecting 

us. I am malleable
enough to wrap myself around
it—weaving, bending,
twisting. I hold so tight.

I want to set you up like a
shrine, to use my hand to let
go but to warn you to stay
put—to connect to me in a way

beyond mere presence to
increasing closeness. Come, so
that when we grow, it is
not apart! Mm, I don’t think I

could stop you, and I don’t think I 
want to, but oh, dash it all,
I shake these hands, and I
tight-rope, and don’t you know,

that the more we shape who each other
becomes, the more we shape the one who
shapes us, and mm, we could be a in a twisting
of leaves instead of in more

distant weather from joined
butterfly wings, but, oh lord, if you
at least stomp on our thread from
time to time in every iteration

of yourself, you know I won’t mind
to dance on these vibrations,
to smile, then you’ll say, why are you
nodding at me, and I’ll say

I yes you, and good heavens, I think
we can remain enamored over whoever
we become. I hear the thread connecting
you and me connects anyone.

first published by The Reprise