The fierce winds that split fragile columns blow back cerebral gusts into the architecture of fantasy. The palace of intellect withstands an avalanche with its armies of random faith. They are the soldiers prepared to defend thought. They also serve our temporary foundations. A building is blind with its empty rooms. Such realities cannot construct themselves while emotional tigers tear at the linen curtains of air. This animal needs to become a seamstress. We must learn how to sew our designs carefully and part from the claws of our subject if we are ever to express its grasp on us. Life tends to manage our divine center the way hurricanes play with dust.

© Matthew Goff