Here’s that little weaving poem that was a sonnet and then I changed it around so it may no longer be a sonnet…g’nite:)
Because the loom of time and space
entwines its soothing silken yarn
between perplexing fringes frayed,
does not prevent my brief return
to long abandoned faded folds.
I tumble back, against the nap,
and feel familiar patterned ways
confine me in discordant scenes
with broken symbols, pulled so tight
I can’t discern
the energy that gives them life
in frequent fitful slumbering.