Mosaic

Down by the banks

of my childhood river

are the rocks and the shells,

the shrapnel of old;

If I let you in,

let you see my mosaic,

I fear I’m too much

of a thing to behold.

So tides turn and billow

like seasons of soul;

mistakes yield to lessons

like sand to the waves;

I may be calculating,

immersed in my blueprints,

but I walk the road

as the road paves.

Beneath all this vigor

lives a girl in her shelter

carefully constructed

from gossamer twine;

We used to be enemies,

this girl and myself

but now I’m her savior

and now she is mine.