Parts keep, days revealing each to wonder
Of our probing hands. What wistful names possess
These items--wood, lock, familiar foyer
Of home, door? Softly, we pronounce them, seizing
Memory before word, told once when like warriors
We brawled against flood and tempests; time packing
Our bags but still we stayed. Suddenly mere glass is more
Than window or rim to measure and restore;
Remembrance more than a dream we pocket after
Sleep. Again, we nail back walls to stand;
Patch a future together from nearly nowhere:
Cardboard box, iron sheet-this is roof, remember?
Aware, we shift through scraps of pre-planned
Ventures, and chuck out once we could not shell
Anymore within these shaken borders. This, finally,
Is reform: refitting pieces for change intrinsically
Of need, redrawing links so we can rebuild, retell,
Retake the stories of our broken house.
« return.