wound into himself

he wound and wound
into himself
from time to time

climbing the shale slopes
near the tracks
in a roasting sun
to find fossils
now a memory
that is a fossil too

beneath the surface
any surface
the rivers
the lakes
the ponds
and the quarries
under bridges
and over dams

there is worry
about water moccasins
and snapping turtles
but not enough
to run
not enough
to hide

he wound himself
into himself
and sometimes
out of himself too

and there is mum
with mum teased hair
and mum opened-eyed
but still somehow asleep
she winds into him too

as does the dark
as does the light
twinning and twining
to form him into himself

he sees the old dark sewers
the rubber boots and flashlight
in summer bright days
to delve the dark
to crouch and crawl
away and away from it all
and in this too
he wound himself
and wound out of himself

and he is a collection
of wound twine memory
twisting in and out
testimony to a linear time
now folded in on itself
losing past and future
leaving only the present

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