Rough-Hewn Furniture

Saint Paul, 10 October 2006

For a time

I build furniture

of rough-hewn limbs

A glueless joinery

insists nature should

grace my quarters

Wood from the weald

dries and checks in a half moon

to complete its artistry

Soon hungry spiders

swallow feckless fliers

beneath the willow rocker

When the freeze comes

I bedeck the furniture

in white flannel sheets

Upon my departure

I lob in wad of flaming drapes

and bolt the door