Knotting My Mind

The kettle hums, steam rising, circling slow,

my mind drifts to knots, that bowline I know.

I swear I learned it, yet here I stand,

Googling again, needing a hand.

A frayed rope hangs, swaying, a sign

of promises broken, of lessons in line.

Each search a reminder of what I can’t keep,

a promise to memory I can’t seem to reap.

So I type and I click, eyes squinting at light,

twisted around with this thought in the night.

How many times must I tether my mind

to things that slip through, so hard to unwind?