Walls
I'm not good enough at love to understand
this way you have of working undercover,
of fixing and of making things entire
without a self-congratulating mutter;
how all your walls are strong and mine are sand.
The love I understand is more a flyer,
spirit made of air with hollow bones
adept at breaking longer into shorter;
a wind that pulls down trees and tumbles stones
can't see walls or know what they require.
I'm not good enough at love to work with mortar,
make useful shapes from viscous mud and straw.
I only know I'm flightless in your hand,
leaning tired shoulders on the wall
that keeps me safe and caught within its border.
~April 2015
posted for real toads
Margaret's Play it Again Challenge
I chose the envelope quintet described by Kerry O'Connor
here.
Poem 26 for April.
Note: This poem was written this morning, and is offered without normal polishing and editing--apologies, but that's the way the poem goes in April. ;_)
Images: The Watercarrier, 1908, by Eugene de Blaas, Public domain via wikiart.org
Barn wall, copyright 2015 by joyannjones
