mortise & tenon

I look back to the variations of my work and know that it is shit

out there across the second floor where there is none,
a veiled reflection of nature, if it has a carpenter
what attracts me, first, is this table
a Dutchman in there, made of recycled boat,
                                                                   an old house,
a proportioned foot,
held in place further down the line by a wooden wedge
a beautiful trestle table that surprises me

Pine with knicks & dings, if not properly cared for
I suppose the most formidable task
is to care for such soft wood,

narrow                 yet very long,
ten people sitting comfortably
taking sketches into their hearts

by way of the ear to the head
small scraps, the edges of the assembled soul,
three pieces, a foot, bracing my vertical member

mortise & tenon, white slopes
embarrassed by black rain
a young feather holding itself against the faded fence
turns my attention and finishes the inside of me