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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


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