The Logic of the Stray Thread

In the fraying border of an ancient weave,
where time dances with no reason,
a wandering thread, a minuscule desire,
is freed, ignorant of its place.
It seeks no flight, nor any fresh embrace,
but follows an echo, a silent call,
and in the seeming chaos of its stride,
an inner logic is revealed inside.

It is no rebel, nor a careless mistake,
that gentle pattern escaping view.
It is an ancient calculus, a tally’s mark,
the hidden path that steers its arc.
Each gentle bend, each delicate node,
an unwritten theorem, profound accord,
in the softest, frail, kind disorder,
its silent, deepest reasoning stored.

And while the careless hand ignores its plight,
or severs it in hurried passing flight,
the thread endures, where its deep logic lies
within the algorithm of stellar skies.
It is the pattern found in things that fade,
the sure conclusion that remains unmade,
the shifting math that stretches out its hand
to its fate, so light, so near at hand.