Off a cotton shirt, 

the shiny, lone button 

popped, stray threads 

frayed in place, reaching 

around the vacant space

with wispy arms and fingers, 

palms lost and blending

on fabric. 

Soulful bonds, whorled

and weft from dyed thread, 

from soulless creatures of 

fabric, tied by their shared

brotherhood—the taut, red

string. 

And their invisible mouths 

burst from cloth, perfumed

with ripe pears and wisteria, 

protests drowning in the 

pungent sea—their calls for 

a sibling that fell wordlessly,

forgotten on the edge of the 

street. 

Their cries remain unheard, 

lost in the tumultuous song

of dead leaves, muffled by 

the new replacement, a 

mimic stitched with little 

to no care.