I tried to make this poem like a “knot,” but I think I went a little overboard. Another four letter word poem.

Knot

When I start to imagine a peaceful tranquility unspooling
from my chest, I walk into a new snarl of emotions with a text.
The tangle steps in front of me like a crude oaf and snags me with
frustration, worry, anger, regret. It's true you can't escape your past.
But neither can you escape the pasts of those you love. That weave
of actions, gestures, mistakes grows dense with time like tumbleweeds
blowing across the daily plains. The knot tightens as I struggle. I pluck
at the twisted strands on uncountable nights, a restless deity trying
to disentangle sleepless souls into a twilight of some relief. The issue
of sunrise on a grainy morning. Light filtering through the terrible gnarling.
The inevitable dawning. What can I do? I must set aside myself and help.
Ultimately, this is our purpose—the giving away, the lending of hope.
Here's another lesson: there's always something. We are called to
renegotiate natural disaster, personal calamity, acts of god.