Crack of Wool

That snap, a quiet warble cut through the morning air—

hair pulled back like a switch snapped raw.

I stood still, shock lodged tight

under ribs like a held breath.

Wool threads dangle, frail balls of fuzz,

a tangled mess on the collar worn thin.

Invisible sparks crackle,

cheap fires against dull skin.

The dry air bites the day,

stiff fingers grasping to catch a spark

that won’t land,

just teasing, like the hollow silence

between old friends who forget how to touch.