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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