Attempting a poem a week. Maybe some other musings. Always a work in progress. Satisfaction not guaranteed.

mycelium

mycelium

we are bound by slender filaments
straining with separation,
unseen, unclean hands
ratcheting the tension
as thinner grow the strands

nothing is infinite
even if they hold their shape
down to the sub-atomic level, these fibers
will reach a point and snap
what effects will then reverberate
and at what frequency?


evening light

touching