New poem, built by my bare hands.
I’ve spent 32 years constructing these walls.
Finding joists to rhyme with floors,
Spirit levelling my expectation
Horizon flat – no undulations.
Skimming flat and rendering smooth,
Pointing stacks and clearing flues
Designed to carry furnace ashes
Into skies beyond the attics.
Three decades plus, hiding wiring
In amidst the plaster’s lining.
Making trails and leaving loops
Designed to linger – futureproof.
A third of a century, not recurring,
Painting frames and draping curtains.
Placing furniture inside the
Sturdy spaces made uncertain,
Built with ever-mounting skill and
Still I find that I am building,
Resonating and extending
Outwards, up, in some direction,
Squinting closer than I needed,
Seeking cracks in every ceiling.