l begin to draw lines with wool,

stitch by stitch.

They bend with the pressure of my hands,

slowly sinking into the surface of the cloth.

When the lines overlap,

small areas form between them,

they look like grids,

yet are never measured.

At every intersection,

the fibers become pale knots,

I reinforce their presence,

like traces of matter coming to rest.

The fabric is porous,

air and dust pass through it.

Shaped by water and pressure,

it becomes a shallow piece of sedimentary rock.