From outer space I dangle from thread.
You’re caught in the threads of my breath- like one single gently strong cocoon strand holding metamorphosis, jaggedly swayed by a crisp fall breeze- you still pull at my entrails. Unexpectedly. Still turning something. A sharp reminder. Sticking me in the side. Doubling me over while the cold sun paints me Autumn colored orange, red, yellow with dying and living all at once. Composting. Curling in. Then I pop, like a Mushroom out of a diligent mycelium web, I am the cosmic traveler and I’ll take this thread to be my ship.