See the beams we gathered ten hands to hang,

triangular trusses the rain threatened

to keep grounded? See the old oak claimed

from the deserted farmhouse, weathered

by earth and storms? We’ll turn this warped

roof into three attic rooms and the stairs

coming up we’ll shift, replace with solid steps—

not the ones you can see through.

When you drove in, did you get stuck in the mud ruts

running from the farm road to the barn?

Did you see the thousand white water birds come

roosting just outside of town—the ones that will leave

in a cloud just as they’ve come? Come rest a while

on these paint cans and fill me in, but watch out

for that hole there between the boards—

if you fall, you’ll fall clean through.