selvage & orts

My loom
Is silent.

My spool,
Empty.

I have reached 
The end of endings 
That start with- 

I’ll never do 
That again. 

Or

I can’t keep
Doing this. 

Or

How do they
Expect me to?

Or

Why do I
Always..?

And at the 
Edge of this
Well worn
Material 

I see 
A familiar
Pattern
Of warp and 
Weft-

An endless
Cycle of
Cast on,
Cast off

That could 
Be undone;
Unraveled
By one thread.