The Build

I stretch myself like a bridge
between fantasy and reality
with not enough of me on either side.

We are too close to both edges.

I only ever wanted to fight with wooden swords
I plead,
reassuring myself,

I am harmless.

But then I think back
on all the harm I’ve caused
and I am less sure.

If everything we build
is made of glass
how can we hope
to keep the world from
breaking down all around us?

Perhaps if we put away
even our wooden swords
and angry words
and eyes,

we can begin to build with wood and stone
and make a thing more lasting
than dread and fire.


We go into the wilderness
to find a wilder version of ourselves,
to release her out into the world.

We look, trying to see everything
between the curves and the edges,
how it blends together and fades.
We circle back, again and again,
each time getting just a little
closer to the center.

The sounds of the ocean and
the windswept pines belong together.

We desire. We demand. We rage.
We are quiet when we should speak.
We shed layers. Grow. Surrender. Leave behind.
We die and come alive again.

We dance wildly in an empty room
trying to enjoy instead of endure.
We live together on our separate planets.
We arrive again and again.

My body was made for this.