She hints I made her
into something she wasn’t.
I don’t remember casting clay,
brushing paint,
mating a cord of lumber
with a barrel of nails.
The only construction
was a bridge
of intangibles
she started
and I worked upon.
We paved with our pasts,
sent over guy wires of dream.
She suspended construction.
Oh, this is brilliant – the metaphors so well wrought – “guy wires of dream” is sheer genius
Thanks, marousia. I never know if a poem is good or bad until it sits for a while.
I agree with Marousia…wonderful metaphors. Precise. Clear.
Peace
Siggi in Downeast Maine