From the Person Lodged Within

Dear Foundational Viaducts,

What do you look like in small pieces
and how close can I get before I taste
your chalky soot on my breath? Disbelief
manages to settle here though nothing
is mandated. I have mastered this hierarchy,
this large white space that greets each
evening and looks down upon me, despite
inward insecurities. I long to practice
granulated motions, powdered arches
brushed softly together, gathered
with certain tenderness and engineered
by the presence of my fist and the way
it meets the ground. You provide
too many routes, unmarked and only known
by those whose feet shuffle one after
the other. I have lain in your framework
and made guesses at what lies beyond,
determined to understand what accounts
for the quiet way you allow me to remain.