I wanted to read something to comfort me before sleep. Something about circling around again and finding the self in a tree branch.
How even in a dark room there’s a memory of reaching for a hand.
Searching, it was late. My eyes hurt from reading.
The knots said, come nearer.
I always knew they were vibrating orbs in numerical bodies, but I refused to look so many nights. Come closer, they said.
Look, and I create their lives. Look away, and they pass, almost as though lightning bugs were their other shells.
Entanglement, I thought, weighs more than a spirit, much more. And so I turned out the light.