The Montalean net is full of flaws, yet I
do not break free.
There is no escape, for I
weave them shut
with my own hand.

I search for thread with which
to braid the rope.
I spin it
on my own wheel
if need be.

I bloody my fingers
tying knots, madly
closing holes.
Frantic to bind
frayed ends.

I float in the same
endless sea that
holds us all, that
drowns us all, that
sustains us all.

I was sinking in a
tattered net as
storms raged, as
waves lashed, as
water filled my lungs.

A mermaid saved me.
She taught me to weave
closed the holes, to
braid the rope, to
repair the flaws.

She gave me children to
weave their own nets from
pieces of mine, until
the time came to
float away.

When madness takes me
I fight it, it
entangles me and
I feel that
I drown.

I rend it to
pieces, I tear at it with
my teeth, I destroy its
delicate web until
the mermaid soothes me.

Gently she weaves closed the
rends through which I
might fall and sink into
the depths of the deep
and disappear.

It is no net to
trap me. It is a
ship that carries me
safely through
stormy seas.

“Look for a flaw in the net that binds us, burst through, break free!” Eugenio Montale