When I asked for a lesson, you gave me a walnut. When I asked for a spell, you gave me a hand towel and a drinking well. It took all of my limbs to outrun the wind which was harmless. The blood in my palms pulsing like What are you doing; my shadow startling at me like a cat in love with the sidewalk. These hands are more accustomed to rougher: naugahyde and distance; heartache and the spear shaft that follows from it. A man could spend his whole life duct taping the seams of his castle. Still the ants would work their way in and we’d call it sadness. This place in which exposed piping is our only source of warmth and awe. When I asked for intention, you gave me the world. A spade and some dirt would have been simpler.