Early this morning when I idled around the house
Behind the carpenters, they were in rhythm,
As is only right, with the laws of square and shim
And shore-up, all oblivious of the hours
Of kneel and back-bend you had given to the borders,
The single peony that may or may not live
— No matter the ministry of sunlight and love –
The clematis still awaiting its climbing orders.
There was no question of a lack of water.
The poplars dripped. The carpenters mulled over tactics.
Would it be better to have had an attic
Or have strung up the former owner from a rafter?
Meanwhile the chickadees darted at the feeder
Through their mild but metronomic turbulence.
I went in for coffee and escape from consequence.
The carpenters discussed the cost of cedar.
Later in the fog I nearly sideswiped
A truck bound for the house with a load of siding.
No way he could have known where I was heading.
When I reached the parking lot the air was rainswept
And the apparition waiting, hand on hip, was you.
I felt a sudden lightening back of my breastbone –
A plumb bob swinging to a standstill, gone
Featherweight on finding the hollow it was sounding true.