“where was it?”

here, right there –
that’s where they fell.

touch the ground and know
if you would fall as well.


“who they are”

it won’t be. we’ll stand
beside her as she sifts
through the wreck,
trying to figure out
where her construct
failed.        we wonder
if this is it, downturn,
ankles and wrists damp
with autumn river.

to us, even the forest’s
different – bright colours
now all hiding eyes, watchers
taunting, laughing, a pressure
building through our misting
breath. we’re about to speak
our mind and save the wolf
when she starts stacking

years later, after we’ve fallen
apart and grown again, we
come back to see the city
of little stone spires, growing
forest-like out of the riverbed.

“we’ll know”

where she knows the cold
of stones, river-worn
and smooth, stacked
into towers. her head’ll
fill the empty spaces,
working around a meaning
she can touch – through
feeling its space, and where
it isn’t, she’ll find a thought
crystal-like and pure. then
she can struggle through
making her own stack
and come back weeks later
to see if its still standing.


look for souls like cement,
masonry; those larger
than themselves, boundaries
dragged up, solo, spread out
keep us all together whole
unbroken, pillar people.

look for them, but don’t make them.
too easy to turn to reaching hands,
begging minds; who’ll support me,
which face’ll save me – making
a person a crutch is wrong.