THE ROPE

A man stands 

up inside 

himself. 

Lifts

out of 

Child’s Pose, 

so to speak, 

and finds

he is at the heart 

of a labyrinth.

In his hand 

is a metaphor 

 

shaped like a knot.

Everything 

that comes 

next is 

 

a gesture of reversal,

an unraveling,

an undoing.

Apology.

He is erasure

and instigator,

the clues

and cues

that keep 

sending 

the coil

further and further

behind -

until the day 

 

he is at the mouth

of an entrance

holding,

with both hands,

a rope,

a weave,

 

that will pull 

him into

 

the rest 

of his life.