halfway through this year,
the roof of my life came
crashing down on me —
i had seen the water stains blooming
in fits and bursts,
the leak growing from hesitant trickle
to fecund torrent
until the weight could no longer
be borne and the ceiling collapsed
smothering my home in rubble
i thought i’d spend weeks trapped
beneath this everest
heart too heavy to breathe
but within days, an eerie calm descended
upon me like a friendly ghost
and i started digging:
keeping what was intact or salvageable
discarding the rest without mercy
trading my home for two suitcases
i set out for the world,
collecting ceiling tiles
of all patterns, glazes and hues
to rebuild my life
like a great mosaic
six months later, i’m still gathering tiles
based on the faintest of blueprints
some days i churn with despair
at what feels like a lack of progress
having to substitute
intuition for vision
other days i manage to remember
this is the work of a lifetime
deepest of pleasures
my reason for being