Love letter from a discarded rope to the piling

Perhaps
to the untrained eye
the patterns we wove,
    intricate,
         delicate,
were never meant to last.
But I know.

And you know

that against your smooth sides
I discover my shape.
That with the right balance
of tension and give
we could hold fast forever.

Against wind.
And wave.
Against even time.

And when we unravel
(as everyone does!)
I’ll wait,
curling around myself
frayed but still strong,
longing to bind myself to you
when we meet again.