New Silk in a Tangle

Fresh silk thread is taken up to be put in order, and it snarls. Aimless sadness breeds arguments over right and wrong. A person is caught inside a net, and the poem closes by asking how many who meet there are grieving.

Thread and net, two woven things, make one continuous image of entanglement, and the book prints Kyo, Bad fortune, for this lot. The silk snarls at the first attempt and the poem leaves the person inside the mesh.

In a present-day frame, these lines fit a new undertaking that knots up at once and a general gloom that spreads among those involved. How much of such a tangle is in the thread, and how much in the mood of the hands?