these are rich days
full of failure and deceit
the sort of days you learn from and take to heart
illness giving way
to rude health
and fretful hungers that die away with dawn
still the hammer blows
and chips of marble flying
we are not half done yet no matter what the tape
may try to compass
I have flown over
the mountains between us and they would have no end
for a little insect creature
climbing over every fold
it will have to be the airplane and the bus however
inappropriate
will it be false
on that account? we can only hope and labor knowing as we do
what work requires
what attention is
having learned long ago what everything costs
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