We had already spent ten unexpected days

sharing what may have been too much

within a structure built too high and too fast

and made entirely from words. I was working

on our next layer when suddenly you interrupted

with such powerful simplicity. "The sky here

is completely yellow." It became the first of

many times I was left speechless and paralyzed,

unable even to question the validity of such

declarations. I did not think about how late it was

nor how much darker it was because of the rain,

and although I had heard before of this possibility

but had never seen it myself, I did not look up.

The impact mattered more than the truth

and the skill mattered more than the sincerity,

and for awhile you were safe behind walls that

always sounded so pretty and unique and strong.

When the discolored ugliness began to slowly escape,

no longer obscured by the ignorance that strangers

cherish nor the denial of the dangerous disconnect

that can exist between life and language,

we had already spent two unexpected months

sharing what may have been too much.

Your concepts remained abstract and your visions

remained illusive, and eventually we were unable

to remain oblivious to the missing roof we never

got around to adding and the missing foundation

we forgot in the beginning. Such carelessness

is difficult to overcome when the walls are built

with such haste. Within a year we became silent,

defeated by reality but living once more beneath

honest shades. The sky here is completely blue

and white and black.