Blissful amongst spring raindrops,
Light as feathers they float seemingly from the ground up.
Once, I built myself anew, hewn of wood and etched with lovely prayers;
but breathless before a wildfire,
It ended as all kindling must.
Decades of woodworking in my bloodmemory,
Little more than pretty fuel and foolish,
I set myself to stones.
Rhinestone eyes and marbled flesh,
I build a better devil.
I’m all sloppy starts, shoddy tools and aching limbs,
But knucklehead and blisterpalm beget nothing less than fireproof.
I rest a flushed cheek on your skull,
Balanced artfully on my shoulder,
And breath deeply before the moment scurries back inside.
to all the scurried/scattered moments.
another nice one.
away from pretty fuel
to fireproof stone
a better devil built:
what work means