I am unwravelling
the empty spaces
the atoms floating apart
slipping through the timestream
of the infinities between here and
I must weave them back together,
hands bleeding over the silk from the cuts
of passing. Like her hands in the nettles
for their sweaters.
but I have no brothers to save.
only the puzzle of the threads
the correct branch to take
the right stitch to use
to stave off the entropy,
the moment, where I come apart
faster than I make myself.