Tensile line, tether— you marvel at how surely a spider sends forth filament after filament and swings its whole body weight into empty space. How do you learn to be brave like that, learn to trust that something set loose could still keep from flying off into the void? You put on another pair of socks, pour water into the kettle, wait for it to boil. And I write “you,” though we know it’s just another way we try to keep some distance from the self, especially when it looks at itself and feels too close. But yes, I’m writing about myself, now; writing of how sometimes I can’t tell a window from a door, can’t tell the difference between premonition, undercurrent, a haunting.