A canvas no longer blank, my child self rises
From the chaos of clutter in a lost room.
To build, my new imperative.
Plastic bricks, or mother's best bone china.
Precarious tower of Babel on the kitchen table.

My reach falls short,
Foundations tip and all comes down,
In a mixture of glee and fear.
Not Dresden's smoking stone arches,
Just a playtime,
Turned to the end of the world
By an accident of life and growth.

Kevin Robinson 21st February 2007