In the Tinkerer's Shed

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In the Tinkerer’s Shed 


Most every tool has a home 

here, this tin-roofed tangle suspended


somewhere between upended and just

order enough to suspect that someone knows


what’s what. Levels hang crooked from a peg-

-board; a box of loose wrenches


tightens down one corner of a toothless

table saw; leaned on the wall  


and looking down from the loft 

a constellation of scraps bear weighty


thoughts of all they might one day

mean. What’s thicker than dust here 


is a sturdy faith in tilted things 

and the unshakeable duty of being


born with shims on our wrists.

What’s missed, like the one nut needed


to take this rust and rattle and cinch it

all right, is a clear and terminal task.

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