in the visible wind
following the spirals
chasing the vanishing pathways
shrinking and swelling to fit the traces
all that "i am" "i am not" thing happening
are they all blind?
she isn't
i hear the silent anger
of twisting ribbons
like daggers cutting both ways
you can't hold them – you can't leave them
no matter where you hide the curlicues
they slash and stab, springs that have sprung
but she doesn't notice
i see you wincing soundlessly
mincing each step
calculating the cracks
missing the seams
answering the challenge
to become a personal play dough
but it's not a contest
there are no winners
– Elaine Greywalker
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