There was always a way; a way he knew
to map an idea out of the landscape
lying before him like an unfinished
puzzle; some way to reshape creation
with a simple jig. His mind danced about
the problem, as he rose and sat, sat and
rose to walk across the yard cursing his
thoughts for not seeing it: so simple, so
obvious. He’d lumber back to the bench,
pick up the pieces of wood and begin
to cast the abstract into the concrete.
Beneath his broken hands, he would divine
a new pattern from the pattern inscribed
in the broken palimpsest of the wood.
(September 26, 2021)
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