Threads loop about the cooling drying stalks,
wreathed in rain-spangled spider web
from thistle head to oak summit.

They tie me to the stray that stalks
and perches on the windowsill nights,
looking in.

Threads pull skeins of birds into tight flocks,
slacken as they soar, balloons,
weightless through the clouds,

hauling in the stars
and laughing gull laughter
at the falling rain.

Threads loop and necklace drape
about faces never seen,
drawing words from voices never heard,

but hearts have no need of faces, voices,
and the threads that join them, taut and tight
as gossamer in the rainy meadow,

need never break.