A red string through
time
connects us all.
The string I hold
will end where my
son knots his own
string.
The string stretches on
through a clearing,
drawn taut
with the wind
tugging our
lengths.
There is no point
to the strings
or reasons
why they end
or begin.
But we hold on
tightly
anyway,
knowing that
the string
we hold
will end.
Even though the
length of the string
will never alter
the fact
that a red string
through time
(Oct. 29, 2009)
Image from escalasilver.com
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