Day Eleven

Various times in life I have perceived

distance as crucial and inconsequential.

I have loved fiercely in hinterlands

And taken umbrage into a bear hug

But the purlieu of myself, I think,

Was lost to a great many some time ago.

I never had the tools to make us a home.

I cannot be content in a moment;

It's not an airlock, corked from time and distance.

I cannot pitch a wheel and eject myself

From my element. I could founder in deep water

Or be happily cast away. Then either could follow

And either follow that. I once fancied myself safe and sound.

I had time. I was a good distance from the storm

But it had, in truth, been forecast

And I never had the tools to make us a home.

I lost the plot. A great many, in fact.

Now I whittle away the days making tools

Let the houses take care of themselves

And I dare not attend to how high they're built

Or just how long they'll stand. 

I just gotta keep working away

Or I'll never have the tools to make us a home.