I’ve been collecting looms.

Big with levers and ratchets and cranks and
small full of nail heads to hold
the looping folds of string transforming
                    slow at
the start then
                    fast to a bit
of cloth.

I could turn this into anything.

I keep never understanding how wrapped warm
I have been and safe in the warp and
weft of the universe until the threads tear
loose and 
leave me
                    torn.