stroked invisibilty, masseuse of mindless faltering assuage, permawarmth in comfort, tenuous the link between still present turn of page, a momentary lapse will see adrift the day and cosy fluff in brain begets the hour ponderous, each motion, movement slowing, eyes succumbing, stills the time, and all the while life beats and strains of happy chatter lick ice cream and giggle softly up above while this mother smiles inside and does allow a body’s need to slip away, a corner turning, urging come and rest the day is done, the beat goes on, slow tempoed now, the rat-tat-tat to rhythmic breathing, holding on determination, letting go, mere slip the cord, peruse the otherworld amid goodnight, stroked key.
Only a cotton ball, ephemeral cloud puff,
disjointed droplets of hitched illusion,
vast transient mass of unknowing.
Merely threads drawn, from ether drafted,
teased and twisted, plying the yarn,
distaff to spindle.
Simply the twists manipulated,
executing and shivering,
separating the strands.
Purely an otherworld undertaking,
Only every fibre pulled and plucked