Watched that new house come together,
Walls assembled off-site, craned-in, stapled up
A dusting of new across everything.
We came in to unify the walls
pure white on virgin pine
up on scaffolding like we were
some sort of
Sistine chapel painters
marveling at the off-kilter pitch of the roof
feeling holy with my arms at work
back in pain and
balanced- always precariously.
When the storm came in,
a sudden tempest in the muddied skies,
We braced ourselves in the concrete basement
Blackened skies
Furies on the wind
Like an exorcism.
When we emerged
The windowed walls revealed
the now golden skies reflecting off
decrepit autumn leaves.
We drove into town
and stopped by a field: to stare
and think
and ask ourselves
if the unpredictability of it all
wasn't the point?
Wasn't that the thing
making our moments worthwhile?
The risk, itself, I thought
being the point:
that if I wasn't risking something
at every moment,
what even was the point
of anything in my life?
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