I now know that I am composed entirely of paper and
wax, and the strings that hold my
body up on my paper feet are fastened with
knots to my heart.
And from the wax heart to your hands that twist the
strings about and my wax limbs and my wax hands
dance like the jointed segments of a
forgotten marionette.
The sound of rocks falling onto a wooden floor
caught my attention as I sat
in that attic with my strings draped upon the floor
waiting for years and years and years and years for
something that I could not name
and now the wooden head is tied in it's own kinds of knots.
Say the words but then it
will become apparent what cavernous space has been filled.
But remain and the valleys and caves will remain
as well.