A Teetering Life

The domicile wobbles. It’s bare and cold but

something of a smithy. Stuffed with resources,

materials raw waiting to be transformed

or already being driven to destinies lapidary.

 

The structure entire sits on a precipice.

An edge crooked. An end sudden and steep.

Anytime could it fall – crash and at once, burn.

Disintegrate. Why then does it attract – why

is it allowed to exact a severe investment

of blood and sweat? Of mind and muscle?

 

Because of it contrivances glittering can emerge –

making one streak across the atmospheric vault.

 

A fitting release and return for the fire

within.

 

Destinies Lapidary

 

Streak Across the Atmospheric Vault

 

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