the hills of sydenham and the jittery willow between us & the block of flats shaped like a ship

conspire to make it feel like this little flat i view it from is just a floating box

like that game demo i played where the world had been shattered into pieces bar a train track that wound through groundlessness

& my avatar flung out a grapple hook to reel in debris for crafting and other little-god things

when you live above the ground does that make the floor beneath your toes a kind of ground?

the smallness of this box no longer sinks my spirit for the world beyond it seems so ungraspable 

and yearning for a bigger floating box is just another form of grasping

🪴

poems