fraying

here is the point
where the fraying ropes
meet-- bisected for a moment
by a lone hair
hanging in the aquamarine
hush.

in the aquamarine hush
my body trying to catch
closer. how do you run
while lying still?
street light cuts in
through 2 missing slats. the blinds
see more than the cold sheets.

sheets of vapor layer
into a fog where lies escape
untouched, like schooners
sailing without a lighthouse--
parting water with their hollow
hulls, and where
is the point?