e u s t a c i e s

tying 1000 threads
and retying
knotting
adjusting
making missed measures
not understanding
weary
worried
yet
at
peace



with each thread I think of you

you

now archeology

history

and yes even the fiction you loved



I realize practice is remembering

tying is breath

I realize the futility of making in a world too full

of mourning the inevitable

still I tie

looking at each knot

judging its inaccuracy

how much imperfection can I live with?

how many times will I default and renew instead of abandon?

it's a simple repetition

like calling your name or death itself