It was a stray thread dangling.
Like the strand of a spider’s silk.
It simply came out of nowhere.
I felt it grace my cheek,
like the webs of autumn
that catch in our hair.
Then a prescient thought
flashed in my mind.
The thread belonged to a tapestry
woven of invisible sky,
and things faster than the speed
of light,
detached from the edge
of a spindle spinning.
Impulsively I snatched it
and started to pull,
then cried out at something
unraveling in my soul!
As if time began to disappear,
owls stop flying,
a poppy’s face close inward,
and all the pictures and places
of the world
were forgetting how to be themselves.
And then I realized
everything is woven strand by strand
from time beginning,
and a single thread
pulled carelessly from creation,
or the wings of a butterfly
heavily descending,
could in the scheme of things
lead to our ending.