— I remember listening to my mom
hoot into the woods at night
and hoots would return back

that made her hoot more
which returned more hoots
and so on.

This loop rings her endearing

especially when you learn
the neighbor was the one hooting back.

So I cherish it and in doing so
shared it with a friend
who put it in a poem.

And now the loop feels like slack thread.

I follow it,
anticipating curvature,

but catch on knots:
that poem, its mother
and always more

which I’ll never untangle.
I’ve learned not to try that.

But I think I can tie it back together,
if I someday reach the end
still holding onto the beginning —