WEAVER
Twin layers on the edge of pattern
past and present.
Empties, fulls, fulls, empties
Granny Sania whispers.
Granny Sania lost her senses
last year.
Recalling Granny Sania
I feel my own senses loosening, or
my senses losing me
(the order is inconsequential).
The air turning thick
enters the mouth like a gag, one
you want to light and hear explode.
