Divine Chaos

The loom is tight, the pattern frays, The weaver sighs—too still, too stayed. Then laughter sparks, a dancing spark, A twist, a cut, a leap from dark. Not ruin’s hand, but wild design, A thread unspooled, a shift in time. The fire runs, the ice gives way, The seed must break to greet the day. From tumbled stone and sundered past, New rivers sing, new stars are cast. Change is motion, fate must spin— And Loki laughs, and we begin.