You have to think about it
You're letting thoughts go
They're not mine to assess
Even less mine to control
They spill to the outside
And find a place in time

If thine is the garden
Then thine is the vine
And no steward here
With his rusty hatchet
Could ever dissever
The bloom from the bulb

As long as its fertile
All flowers grow
And no more the bouquet
Than our footprints to snow
You're one feisty weaver

Lacing all that grow
Can't look away now
Since you've sewn the rest
If you've known the worst
Here comes the best

Eversworn
In needlepoint
Unlinear
Untraceable
Relative
The firmament
Elements
In cuneiform

Play

So turn a page
And grab a pen
Lose yourself
And start again