There is a beauty in
fixing what is broken.
In the act and art of
finding and mending.
We break so much,
we really do.
We're in constant need
of you to make whole again
what we have rent and ruined.
Just one more job.
Always another. And another.
Burn out those daylight hours
and drive home in the
twisting tracer lines of
Van Gough like light.
Eat your lonely dinner
cold from the microwave
where she left it and
live in quiet terror of the
night you open the door
and find nothing there.
That will be the warning
stones bouncing at your feet
before the avalanche of
your life falling apart.
We break so much,
we really do.
And yes, your tired hands
have proved the beauty
in the ability, in the process
by which you mend
but there is beauty in
the masterpiece we make
before it is broken.
There is art in the act
of not breaking a whole
and perfect thing.
One more night,
you hope it lasts
one more every night.
But you know, even
with care the machines
will break down.
It's what they do.
You know what happens
when they're neglected, too.
Of course you do;
You are in repairs.