I don't trust the stones not to shift beneath my feet. Just because they've held so far doesn't mean they'll continue to do so. I stare in the folded mirror at a face has slipping between the cracks in the glass. Hair parted down the middle, standing with one foot on either side of the San Andreas Fault. Bridges are always collapsing, walls crumbling, houses sliding into fissures. Lightning splits the sky and cracks the stump. Sheets of paper folded in half, torn. I waste hours trying to tape them back together. Clenched hands wrenched from one another. I feel like I am constantly followed by a cloud of hornets that sting my face, perforating it down the middle so it could tear in two. Maybe then I'll be able to keep myself company, one eye staring directly into the other instead of both staring in different directions with a gaze that is never returned.