Measure.

The world breaks its banks —
serpentine stream, curving creek,
winding river —
desire without limit,
motion without shore.
What was given to be tended
spreads until nothing is held.

But the answer is not chains.
Order pressed too hard crushes
the life it claims to save.
A rule without choice
becomes another flood.

So the measure is given:
length and width and height
restrained.
Not endless —
enough.

Timber, once alive,
cut down and cut to shape —
sacrifice.
Space assigned to weight,
boundaries drawn
not to imprison,
but to keep.

Here obedience learns its form —
not submission to force,
not freedom to scatter,
but a heart aligned
with what holds, sustains.

The world will be carried
only by what is
measured.