is always already there, all
scaffolding and air, one
narrow beam and a man(?)
stepping with care
(there's a bird of paradise here, somewhere)
24 stories high
above 24 stories
high above 24 stories...
(dizzy? high? or a flower
scarred, in a far-sighted eye)
scaffolding: air and will and
someday a roof to walk on, someday
a high to rise
(and a place to hang the clocks to dry)
Time, love, time has a way of building
skyscapers of strange dimensions, of drawing
paradise from a carpenter's hands.
by Jessica Parienti