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