Poem 20

. . .
Pooling and quelling as every fine
,
lissome thread tears
away, gently, from its spindled nap
—
its gesture drifting into a pile.      Such slack inertia
never effaces the threads' fall
,
though their winding, still
-
flowing coils spool endlessly in extenso
:
undulating. Threadbare—the attic
-
light narrows each line, skirting edges in
sunstreams / else-inking in obscurity—as if one drew






thin, delicate hairs falling across the face of the world—each umbra
accosting boundless contours: a heavy ballad of dilated
(
rain
)
soon-fading glints dropping with pooling thread from snapped termini
. . .