I am not part, nor can I reach
Connection, as these bitter herbs
I taste upon a stinging tongue
I’m told to hold to keep the peace.
As though brick walls could freely speak
Much better than they listen, cracked
And worn upon the surface of
What was supposed to be a calm
Veneer. But really, anyway,
What is a body to betray
Than just so many afterthoughts
That some hold precious, effortless,
While others struggle just to keep the grade?
A street of alibis, a mill
Of absentees, a hidden house —
They all must somehow share the light.
Just this, in epilogue:
We know that what we build must fall,
For time is passionless, and firm,
But even so, and brick by brick,
We have our stories to construct
With all the messy leavings that entails.