Night Build

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Night Build


Because the day is not long

enough for this neurotic niggling,

these make-do gists that gerry-rig me


another round as I circle

the matter of this nattering

mattering. The solid things


I think I know become again

the thick choke of dust

shot from the shoot of the miter


saw, and nothing is square

in this dim head-

lamp, swirling in a galaxy


I could never build or fix 

within my stare, but still it gathers

on my lips and in my lungs; 


with every breath the stars shift, 

the firmament responds. What matters

snuffles unseen along the wood-


line, the breeze bringing

blackberry and the faintest scent

of its most secret thought,


to which I offer in answer only yes,

I half-guessed as much,

and it is wholly wholly wholly


as it ought.

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