However
often I have sewn my heart,
Enwrapped
my flesh within the shroud you spread,
Like
breath at birth is every needle’s dart,
Like
birth is breathing till the nerves are dead.
Inside
the veil, the warp and woof of steel
Secure
me, soothing me to smooth my fears,
While
binding those it cannot quite conceal
Into
this web-work dulled by time and tears.
These
threads have wound and woven with my veins,
However
fast my blood can flee away;
Immersed,
they wear my life like fading stains,
No
dyes absorbing, never more to fray.
My pulse: the dangling thread that pulls me
on,
Entwining me until the thread is gone.
