If only I had a pair of stilts,
Long legs cutting through the distance
Piercing their steps into the ground
Sharp points on impact finding comfort
In a place of contact shaped to their image.

If only I could walk around like that,
Towering above
What others call level,
Away from the broken and disheveled,
Away from my station
Invoking some hesitation in those that passed by.

If only I could be as unnatural as I feel,
I’d lumber around without guidance,
Moved only by curiosity,
Infected with unfounded zeal.

To be so tall,
So high up,
So distant,
That everything else becomes so absurdly small,
So intrinsically manageable.

If only I could get further away from this rock,
Yet still be on it,
Not tethered or burdened,
But inquisitive and troubled,
though not without agency.

I could scatter about like a bipedal spider,
And thread what looks broken together
Wrap it in string,
find pride in the suture,
and never be wounded.

But here I am,
Too close for comfort.