the threads are carefully snipped
one by one.
what remains begins to fray.
the fibers spindle down
to nothing,
the weave coming apart
until it

the earth still spins its dance.
the moon laughs.
the sun ever nurses
the forest floor,
the moss,
all the tendrils of life
pushing up
where forgotten fibers 
brew the soil.

3 thoughts on “disintegration

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