In Knots

My words were draped upon firm postings;

Truth bore them well, so I thought.

They were to be the line  anchoring our thoughts together.

But sounds rebelled, and snarled at a sticking place –

Communication, that rare sighting,

rather than coiling heart to heart,

 tied itself up in knots.

Loops as holding hangers gnarled, and wove

a meaning unintended.

Now whose end is whose?

Where do I begin and you end?

Who is left holding the frayed edge,

and who is the dangling participle?

If you cannot catch my drift

I will float away,

un-anchored and un-caught,

my heart unheard,

in knots.

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