to a carpenter, on his first anniversary

 

Keeping the rain away, the acrid gusts

at bay, the sun from baking out our brains;

researching forms of quake insurance (just

in case) -- no rest from all the daily pain;

nature exacts its cost of living, tests our

patience with new tricks, new troubles, new

temptations. What to do but tend our nests?

Endlessly we fill in this, make that true,

raise it here and lower it there -- adjustments,

endless adjustments. Nothing ever stays whole,

nothing fixed or new . . . but a contract of trust, a

carpentry of love, right tools and roles, will

ease the work, and day by day we build our

home, and hope tomorrow to build it still.

 

 

© Michael Fleming

Berkeley, California

November 1987

 

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