I was hollow, once
just knock, knock, knock
call out and you’ll hear yourself
for days behind my ribcage.
except I’ve been building
in my quiet, novice way
dragging my tools to the
old shed out back in the rain,
plugging away in the half-light.
I call him love,
I keep him on a shelf
imperfectly painted green,
or maybe the exact shade
of some body of water from
some time I can’t really remember.
He’s by the only window, love
where the only ray of sunlight creeps in
and he grows and grows and grows
and sometimes we talk, but he’s still learning
and I know love loves me like I love him.