The thread was caught, the bag was near,
The lei a knot of plastic bloom.
The child’s eye glared with darkest gloom.
The thread was caught, the bag was near,
A sacred tangle, not too dear.
The lei a knot of plastic bloom.

The scissors came, I begged, I cried.
The iPad pinged with phantom me.
I muttered spells, no remedy.
The scissors came, I begged, I cried.
The ghost of calm, unsatisfied,
The iPad pinged with phantom me.

Into the reliquary deep,
The lei, half-broken, tied again—
A heavy sigh, but not of pain.
Into the reliquary deep,
The closet where all lost things sleep,
The lei, half-broken, tied again.