Hemmed in

when we with old eyes by a new light
trace the patterns in the palindrome

palms pressed against a wall blind

and stumbling in the broad midday we
traverse the expanse laid before us

measuring its dimensions in arm spans

spiraling like a horizontal free-falling 

the stitches unravelling in staccato steps

each second held stationary at needlepoint
along a striking linearity but this here now
is a point and nothing less