What You Wish For

A saw against hard wood
Dust in a pile
Breathe small puffs
when you sigh
they are hurricanes

As you measure
Each line becomes a cut
Each cut becomes a scar
Each scar becomes a badge

Furniture we make
More than a bed
akimbo to our thoughts
Parallel to our desires
I hold out my hands
You want the hammer now
Pound in the nails
the saw was not enough

I wish clouds
Would fill the empty places
And raise us where our needs
Are pure

In the fragments
Of time and our loins
There lays an almost perfect truth
Of stealth and thievery.

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