358/365: For the Relief of Coming Undone
Sometimes I say things
and can feel their terribleness,
even as I make the sounds that flesh them out.
I crave to take every one back
until a silence crawls down through my history,
the loose thread's tension plucking out its own stitches
to undo the push and pull of each thrust and parry
that has passed my lips,
until the string's borne back to its first knot,
the innocent anchor,
and we can begin again.