Lumber and lacquer Nails and elbow grease Blood from the splinters Before you were stripped down From the wood Of the forest behind our home
Standing sturdy and steadfast, On the patio I laid Brick by brick Gate keeper of the orchard that grows, Thick in the summer And curls up barren,
In the cold months As if sitting on its mahogany shoulders there are Mountains to the North West that seem To smile with their peaks, And valleys against the blue satin Sheet of a sky
You who bare witness to my body and the bodies of Countless others Those that would just simply use you and fewer, That would become your very grain You are watching our conversations, Through knots for eyes Through bird-burrowed holes, Hearing us, As we break bread as brothers Wood through the trees Flesh from bone Feast to famine You are,
Beautiful and complete As the steak, Cooked rare A glass of summer portβwine:
The color of the red russet potato, And the earth-soiled hands that dug them up