Since the last time I was demolished

Since the last time I was demolished
The edifice of myself must be built more carefully.
There’s less pretense I even know the right way to be.
My scaffolding feels shaky, uncertain.
I feel my dizzying heights
As nauseated memories of falling,
Or just of my oneness with the dirt.
I inflate myself with hopes,
Search for bedrock beliefs,
Wonder at what of all this mess
Is good for building.
Nothing can be made except that which is made.
No.
I am a tourist,
An occupant of the self that is built.
I am a temple for the living God,
And he’s never needed anyone to build for him.
I breathe and see,
Bear witness to my unfolding:
Eyes-open surgery.