Q: Why am i putting myself through this?

A: Because i want to.


All I've ever sought is stability; not, so i thought, a tall order. 
I'm not, and never have, expected perfection and smooth roads. Only faith and trust paving our foundation... and now... ? Perhaps now i am looking up at a vanilla sky from the rubble of caved in ghost-collumns, swinging from the scaffolding of a question mark.


I should, by all means, climb out - run, escape! escape! - to some higher ground, for fear that this pit cave in on itself again, and smother me so that this time none of the light can cracks through--wiry wisps of sun to climb out on. Maybe there is not too much left in me (inward emaciation, outward rippling, plascticity) but my bones remain burried in the tumbled earth, home in the clay where they were grown thousands of years ago. So i delight in resigning myself to sitting on cracked stone, acquiescing to crevices, waiting, waiting this through. For the flicker of that thing that my faith says will come around. I do not know what this thing is. I am tired of dealing in faith: dead currency. Now i only keep a few notes in my purse, for the novelty.


What if the flicker never comes? patience in vain, disection in vain, for this earth to resurrect itself into a mountain. Is it true?- hours binged and purged. i fear my bones will become worm-wood--the atrophy and distortion of seeds. My flowers fated to never crack the topsoil.


So i wait.