The lines cross, intersect,
As they delicately settle.
They leave, come back,
tell me that they
Will visit again later.
There are patterns,
Pictures, paintings
And memories all
Spread out over the
Design. How many?
How many strings?
Who have they touched,
Do others see them?
I see them. I see them
Dangling, draped over
other people’s shoulders
Wrapped around their
Necks, falling off
Laying in the street.
Or sitting on display
Similar to a crown.
There are so many webs.
I wipe them away, but
some are here to stay
Clinging to my heart.