Thread your needle. Pin wide my nascent eyes.

Stitch me up, buttons sealed with candle-wax.

Now answer me my questions. Tell me why

All paths and patterns twist away from good.  

Roots bind and snatch my wayward straying feet

As I traverse the damp and darkened wood.

They weigh me down and torture all my flight.    

When my path may almost seem complete,

They tangle me in pithy stagnant night.      

Tell me, witch. Cast a deeper stronger spell.

I have far darker wounds and don’t belong.      

This truth is all my beating heart will tell.

Now conjure me a sweeter dying song.

Tell me how to find my kin.

Will I go by paths ill lit?

Ancestral branches bind me in.      

This skin they’ve sewn me in will never fit.       

Tell me. Spill me, spell me, rhyme me, hurl me,

Fill me. Bring the book and bell and ring me.

Send me spinning on your spindle, singing, singing, singing.