I
have joined up those strings of which I cannot measure, wound them around a wooden spool, pulled them apart strand by strand, unwound and measured again, but still can't tell you how long they are.
Would they reach the moon?
possibly,
I have no time to find out now, the length of the string, joined, is no matter and yet somehow,
it is the string which wakes me in the night wondering if I might be wrong in not going on to find out how long the pieces are.
I wonder why I care,
the string is there,
I am here.
Sliced or diced
chopped or lopped
the string remains,
a reminder to me that whatever I am
I will always be
the length of a piece
of string,
unmeasured.