Before Me Is Another Pile of Bricks
Before me is a pile of bricks.
Some so handsomely carved from granite and quartz,
Fit for the construction of any deserving community.
And some are made of mud and straw, dried in the sun,
Thumb prints of this world and even a few of my own.
These bricks are mine to carry.
Beautiful or not, they are all heavy, but it is an honor to stack them,
I shuffle to and fro in the brickyard, trying not to let them sink in the mud.
Sometimes so exhausted, so sore, not knowing where the next one will go,
And then I see your face, the way you looked at me when we first fell in love.
The bricks begin to change.
Though the work is hard the bricks soften in my hands,
They lighten as does my heart when you hold me, when you are near.
The bricks become warm to the touch, as though they are coming alive,
Much like my senses when I see you smile, when I hear your laugh.
The bricks are like doves.
I know the bricks are the foundation of my life,
But when I carry them with you, they float into place with fidelity and care.
And they fly from my mind in the beautiful sunlight,
When I am with you, so vulnerable and yet strong, together as one.
I love you.
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