Creation is a shed

A shed

which with usual sense

Holds pitchforks, mowers and

Work

And that is some place already expressed in a

Way and a beautiful way

Because here holds a place to nourish the carpet of earth upon which we lay

And then though to take this space

To jumble it to bits

Literally, pull back the metal,

Listen as the tech screws hit the ground maybe

In dirt for great grandchildren to dig and find and

Treasure and

Then

To swirl the identity

One which seemed fixed by

Millions of pieces and

Tech screws

And to bring

From one impulse like a

Spring

Fresh through the ground and

From here

A new wholeness of

Pieces and more

With varnish never there

Ready like a poem

Once seemed set and

Then

reborn