Maybe if I speak it into being,
This amorphous thing.
Like trying to grasp fog.
I see walls,
And light, soft, natural,
And shadows too,
Since one cannot exist without the other.
And this desire to create, to show, to share.
What these two hands are capable of,
When heart and mind are at play.
These things take time.
And I know, once the path is lit,
I'll thread easily down that road,
But for now the map feels too bare.
Everything feels too forced.