inhale.
a knotted me
twisted in a knot,
catching april’s snow
with strands of wool
draped over
the body,
the limbs,
the bones.
hold.
the knot is just that –
a knot,
or the looping
and twining of
two lungs caught,
fives lobes stuck
in a breath,
held.
exhale.
the knot unknots,
the course resumes
in spirited strings,
imbuing skin
with light,
melting the cold,
this silent nomad
that had paused
on my every edge.