weaving invisible threads

we were marshmellows toasted. trials of fire melt innards. sweet and sticky. forced into mouths.

on a road to nowhere. or papunya or elsewhere. these destinations elude me but i enjoy the ride.

personalities ferment in the early hours. i am ageless and ancient and toothless.

and it makes sense in these small moments. when the invisable threads catch the light of the moon. we are dancing between them; playing limbo and jump rope.

never tangling. only strenthening
the weave.