mortar

my heart is already folded
like a crane
or a child's fortune-teller,
or maybe a bad hand

its edges are crisp in places, soft in others
taken on a shape that is not
without its pointed places, not without pause
or surrender
taken on a form that is not its
natural
resting state

how do we find our way back
from those shadowy borders?
back from half-truths that fell like mortars on the
the small and still unstable trust
that we were building

i, am no carpenter
no brick-layer
i have built towers of feathers to the sky and wondered
why my constructs keep toppling over
i have not laid hands down on a project
with anyone
for a long time,
in remembrance and reference and dread
of what happened the last time
i was stupid enough
to believe
that another's heart and hands
were building with me

this,
this is no easy history
to face, to rearrange, to release in
order to hold something different
but i am willing to try,
i think
i am willing to set down my disguise for awhile
and just try to be me,
with you,
here,
in this

but what unknown weapons do you carry?
what hidden land mines live beneath the surface of your skin that
once set off-

do not remember


that maybe, you love me
that mortar can fill the cracks, and make stronger
or
that we are trying
to build
anything at all.