I stretch forth with ivy creep
Ensnaring the things I touch
without trying.
It's that thread thing.
I am thread.
Not the needle with point,
Not the sharp needle point,
But that small thin thread
That pulls and holds and binds
I don't know how to let go
Except by frazzling and fraying
to nothing.
Until -
            Snap
The connection is broken.
I am broken.
I must mend and darn.
Recreate the patchwork pattern
Missing a piece
Hoping it looks whole once again.
Find the pieces that are worn
Thin with age
And strengthen them.
They are the core structure.
The pieces that pull and stretch
      and break away
Are those that the ivy thread
Reached to far to hold.
Overstepping bounds,
Extending limits,
Until there is too much covered.
Those extremes must,
Have no other choice,
Are forced to break away,
Let go,
Dissolve,
Dissemble, Disintegrate.
If it's important it will appear
Within reach
Later
When it is time.
If it's important it will appear later
But not until it is time.

Ivy creeps mostly with patience
Knowing eventually
It can create a large enough
      root network
To find a way back to the origin
      the source
      the beginning
That, which is eternal and sustaining.

Copyright © 1997 wendi loomis The Seasons Change