I do not ask the sorrow to stop, but further

to take my grief from me


would unravel the singlest thread yellowing

in my gut


dropping as feathers

:immaculate

gold things

heavier than the world of you


unfolding and folding as a sea of dust


in my serpentine universe


I shouldn’t ever ask it to stop

rather,

as a stone I worry it


cherished as the only open glade

of my tangled mind