worrying ovenbird Letting my fingers stray to your edges, repeatedly coming back to the loose threads and knotted ends. Picking compulsively, with ragged nails, at what threatens to take you apart. I smooth my hands over your days only to watch your creases deepen, pressed by the heat and sweat that gather in my palms. My mind returns to the place I last saw you and my toe draws distracted circles in the dirt. I let poems slide through my fingers. Cold, black rosary beads. I pray for grace and I pray for mercy, on your behalf. I'll do whatever penance can be exchanged for your freedom. 260322 what's it to you? who go blather from