In a square of sand beneath a watching sky,

two boys kneel while kingdoms cry.

Leo shapes with open hands, low, wide walls that welcome lands.

His gates unlatched, his edges kind—no need to guard what’s shared in mind.

Don cuts hard with heel and fist, a higher throne, a tighter grip.

His towers climb on narrowed ground, each grain a thing to stake and crown.

They do not speak. They do not meet.

Their borders press beneath their feet.

A restless wind that takes no side moves through their work, but passes by.

Leo mends the broken, and smiles as sand heals the fray.

Don strikes at every chance, even if it won’t give way.

And still they build, as children do—one builds for many, one for few.

-Mandy Ricks