Yarn is a short poem built on a single image: human bodies as woven cloth. The speaker says we are made of yarn, and that every strand is soaked in "the colour of / madness and wild." It's a quiet way of saying that wildness isn't an extra layer sitting on top of us. It's part of the material we're made from.
The poem's shape matters here. Its lines are very short, often just one or two words, so the poem unspools slowly, like a thread being pulled. "Whose / Strings / Are all / Drenched in" makes us wait for the colour to arrive. The word "drenched" suggests nothing is left untouched.
The speaker doesn't sound ashamed or frightened. The tone feels matter-of-fact, even accepting, as if madness and wildness are simply what humans are dyed with. The mood is calm but a little strange: something untamed hums underneath an ordinary, domestic image of knitting or weaving.