I unfolded a sentence and fell out.
had a dry slipperiness to it,
a cool breath of acetone.
I have often wondered, to dissatisfaction:
Why am I like this? So -like?
The motion of the gave me some idea.
It smelled like my grandfather’s belly,
my grandmother’s frying pan,
the Denny’s creamers,
the sweet barely-dry ink.
slithered and folded up.
It decided to go back.
I wanted it to stay and also I was afraid of it staying too long in this world.
rebraided itself
back out from the unknot.
went back into the words.
I watched it fade away and then I forgot how it had felt.