Every day I wake up to the sound of the water
The same soft murmuring, a gurgling, the occasional whisper
The sun blinding, always, not a cloud in the sky
The platform comes apart in my hands like clockwork
Piece by piece by piece
My shelter moves from something
To a pile of something
I wonder if the shelter is still a shelter when it’s not a
shelter
Then I sigh and move the whole thing up another yard
Occasionally I get a splinter or the callouses on my hands
start to bleed
And I remember a time when I saw other faces
Laughter and food and smoke and belonging
Now there is only the ocean and the wooden planks
And the hill
You might wonder why I move my hut a yard every day
Why I don’t throw myself to the depths below
Or why I don’t scale the mountain on foot
The truth is that I don’t remember why this started or how I got here in the first place
But the roof keeps my skin from the sun
And the ocean provides food for my belly
I have no reason to believe there is anything to find further up the slope
But the lapping of the waves
As day follows night as day follows night as day follows
night
Gives me purpose
When I finally rebuild my humble home
I collapse into a deep sleep
And it is the same dream every time
I dream of reaching the summit and I look around and see
Hills upon hills
Each with another version of me
I wake smiling
Then I hear the water
