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Threads, threads
the bobbins in the heads
Am doubting the beginnings
dreading the ends
shall I drink up Love's cup to the dregs?
Here am standing
with the white thread
for dawn to break
and tell me: 'you are right'
would I break the fast
at sunset in that sea
with love dates and glasses of ecstasy?
Or pledge eternal abstinence and see?
Threads, threads,
the black ones and the reds
Emily Dickinson's 'yarn of pearl'
or Hafez' smiling faces at the deathbeds?
Should Ariadne have supplied Thesus with the thread?
left deserted on the island
found dead
threads, threads
and mine with God cut
I miss Him so
need to quickly make a knot
and climb to Him
follow the thread
threads, threads,
would my lips taste wine?
Would there be traces
of squeezed grapes?
Methinks I'd want God to check my mouth
then smile and say: 'am satisfied'