Something had to change
the inner structure incomplete,
posts are missing, a beam or two,
I seem to be leaning, slipping,
the architect busy with eraser
as so called memories disappear,
the carpenter’s pencil fat
but sharpened like a knife,
timbers take the knife
like trees took the saw,
the forest but a field of corn,
brackets, bolts, a bucket of nails
staged with thought and muscle -
all this effort to construct
a larger room for silence.
http://donhynes.com/blog/?p=915