Adding an Egg Box

Adding an Egg Box

because the youth who was once okay to duck

beneath the screw-studded two-by-four

of the door and reach morning-blind

into the open mouth of a paint bucket 

for whatever was waiting there

has flown. I still believe in the muted sheen

of gold each day offers, and there’s no doubt 

that claiming it will always take 

a shit-stained pair of boots, a dusky

blindness, the fledgling faith of feeling-

for, but I have felt—more keenly of late—

the gaze of the half-domesticated dragon

eyeing the sleepy village of my back

as I stoop to swipe the hoard, 

have yet to grab the blacksnake

with the sun halfway down its throat 

but have come close. So it’s still a yolky yes

from me, but also now a fragile how 

best to receive the gift, to re-

structure this shelter accordingly.