we are the work of chapters,
the forging of steel.
the spider’s web empty for a month of nights,
the garden sowed again and again.
trees cut and stacked in firewood lengths,
babies born in cementaries,
atop unmarked graves.
maps lost, histories forgotten,
dull knives sharpened again and again.
footprints in sand,
that the waves wash away.
wise men following the star,
generation to generation.
brown hands picking fruit,
that never touches their lips.
we are a thousand deaths,
fires that raged and were spent.
stars formed from dust,
that return to the same.
all these things and more,
and often less…
we are the mortar between bricks,
from which life is made!
we are! we are!
and that is enough!

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