I saw a single golden thread
flaxen, bright and true.
It grazed my shoulder, passed my head,
danced in my field of view.
I knew not where the sun-strand led
or from what lumen root it grew;
the strand’s romance
of unknown plans
promised something new.
I watched a single golden thread
And in intrigue, gave it chase
I walked away and off, ahead
My feet gathered ardent pace.
Towards the end, I felt cold dread
and recognised the place;
But to feel the fear
Is to know you near
The ending of the race.
I clung to a single golden thread
And felt my dimming sight
I traced it to my childhood bed
Before losing it to night.
In an empty house of the toothless dead
Where I lure myself to write,
I quickly learn
That the fears I burn
Are the source of the thread’s light