Our nest: undone – we methodically weave our hands,
as we fold it over and over
we have been here before.
Swept up and turning over (sinking into the matte mirror),
we see ourselves as woven threads, snapped buttons,
tossed pillows:
We are soft,
messy creatures.
Roaming restful;
are we wild love and wonder’s home?
We cannot stay here, we must go,
we must search
for a bed we cannot get lost in and left without.