All of Your Words
form a personal totality,
your opus of text through time:
like blankets stacked
in blocks of thought bubbles,
comment boxes, and books
knitted together and sometimes unraveling,
in thinning and thickening threads.
The strings of words weave themselves into linen,
a text of time. Stack the blankets,
drawer by drawer, familiar but never formed before,
a language pressed with newfangleness.