What Knots Know
and cotton snick as tips slide out each eye.
I push this nib into my pillowcase,
pick apart the warp and weft, unweave both
into yarn and thread; lay across our bed
laundry twine, red spools of Christmas ribbon.
My canvas belts and your silk neckties: what
you don’t know is everything can be tied.
Learning rope gives you a knack for “two-round
turns into an overhand hitch with one
more pass.” This one takes unlayed strands, the string
pieces untwisted and works them tightly,
until they spiral. No love poem, instead
I tied a rope to you; with the far end—
called “running,” “living,” “tagged” —attached to me.