He once said he was a skyscraper
and as far as buildings go
I would tend to agree:

tall & glassy
his windows reflected the sun
his height cast a shadow
on his streetscape below
his edges could snag your jacket
angular and sharp

When he was five he felt like
an empty shoe box
locked in the hall cupboard
full of old things
faded yellow
that is only brought out 
when you want to find a old tax return
or love letter

Today he is all barefoot and anxiety
hands wringing the air in my office
to tears
stuttering his way to tell me today
t-t-t-t-t-t-o-o-d-d-d-daa-d-dd-y-y-y-
he feels like a tent not a building
small and out of control
flap wide open
his demons howling their way through himv exposed to the other campers
he wants to run we start to breathe our way
back to the room
we ride the wind of his agitation and movement
and he climbs slowly back into the canvas
speech returning
he tells me about his day