"If these chivalric ideas did not carry with them all my thoughts, there would be nothing I should not make and no curiosity my hands would not create, especially cages and toothpicks."
I can pick apart a house
As well as I build a cage.
When there's little to disturb
The thoughts from homing on home,
The mind returns. We don't go
Swooping lightly to darkness.
We have our hesitations.
The copper steeple gone green
In the snow and the rain, hope
Sifting through hope's ashed remains,
Silly externalities,
Sillier abstractions dust
Our outlines so we can see
Our true selves loved like our dreams.
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