I.
I call to You—
Help me, please.
I show You the strands connected to me.
From head to toe, they trace me, a hostage of the past.

II.
Yes, He says.
Silver scissors, elegant and sharp—
In my grip—
trembling, I begin to cut through the threads.
His hands move and weave over mine,
holding me centered and grounded,
keeping me focused as emotion and memory
connect with release.

III.
He helps me clear and heal
the wounded places of entrance.
His hands of light and flame ignite against my pains,
sealing off further intrusion.
He guides me, continuing the cut
all day and all night.
I fall into peace, more and more free.

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