The building is coming together.
Some floors are already
Glass wall offices and water
Cooler rooms.

For one year, this concrete
Mansion has been my
Workplace.
I have scars from edges now

Invisible to the suits and secretaries
Of tomorrow.
Somewhere underneath this
Wooden flooring,

My blood drops still remain.
I stand on the glass roof,
Watching my friends in hi-vis
Eight floors beneath me.

This was sky once.
This was nothing.
This held seagulls and city crows
Fighting over bread like the

Two remaining pieces of a chess
Game. Overhead, morning clouds
Withdraw to let a rising sun
Lay its red on Oslo,

And other buildings
I built. Housing
Other drops of my
Blood.