by Pat Seman

The thread of the story has unwound,

this red trail
that follows him into darkness.

The earth shakes and roars,

already the hole is opening
into a deeper sorrow.

The creature rules me, draws me
every night into its dreams,

the warm lair, the crescent moon
horns shining.

The thread is drawing me out, stretching me,

as it unreels, the more my life unravels, the green
and sheltered gardens collapse behind me.

I am no more than a long ache.