Solomon built his temple
in twenty years from cornerstone
to final pillar topped
with pomegranates.
Mine is taking considerably longer
to construct. Each cubit
a measure of quivering,
each quarried stone a shudder.
You may knock
on the decorative doors
of my dread, walk freely
on the ornate floors of my fear,
but what I hope
is your hand
entwined in mine
like lattice—
us
braving this dome of stars,
the sun.
Copyright © 2019 by AJ Saur, from Set A Flame (Murmuration Press).
Eighth Day Aches 