Behold my nature, gnarly as a knot,
Twisted tight and so-untimely caught
In loop-de-looping laps of circling thought.
These self-inflicted binds won’t let me move,
And all my ends contrive new ways to prove
To God and man that this is all a plan:
This course of snarling strings from end to end.
I’ve buried strands I long ago forgot
And fear that this can only make me fail,
But moves to self-untie cannot avail:
My thumbs have long laid buried in a groove
Beneath a dozen snags I never sought.
I am undone. And yet I am a knot!