The Hardest Light

We move through a rain of glances,
Knowing houses are still built by hammers,
Thudding and thunderous
In the temples, and beneath the skin.
Thin as the construct of time, we skate
Through every story’s twitch and turn,
Where every moment frozen in memory
Is still awaiting its moment to burn.
What now, in these hours, desolate,
Should we bend before, and in utterance, pray,
If the avalanche of every other emotion
Is torn down by the ricochet?
Oh, let your heart fire in its chamber,
While all that could be, murmurs, through the night,
But we are left with the hammer, and the nail,
Building a house of
The hardest light.

Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH, and has traveled throughout the US. He currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in: Hobo Camp Review, 322 Review, The Write Place at the Write Time, and After the Pause.