April Morning
First marriage on the last day,

I lay brick
nothing special
Portland and sand
water and orange
clay fired to these
rectangles.
Clinks my trowel
the running bond
along the line
pulled straight from
the fireplace outward
then curves around
four deep back on it'self.
Nothing special except
the morning and the tulip
closed laying on its' side
dying slowly of time
and the thoughtless waste
in the haste of construction.
Statistically I have
fourthousand days to see or
plant the herbs invisioned
for this bed before ,like I,
someone chips away this
mortar to find the brick
to stack and bond another
april morning .
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yes jake, never ending, ever ending
binding, loosening - constructing
just the size of the miracle makes the difference
between sad tragedy and unfathomable marvel, glory
and then of course, that thinking sand, wet silicon, reflecting
would share a pint with you, discussing these thoughts
"nothing special" - marvelous poem jake - i love it -- allan
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Allan I have finished..it is more functional than beautiful.But I must say I would share that pint with you..we would sit on my front porch near the purple plumb with the creamy pink blossoms. You could see lime mound shrubs,redbud trees against a hedge that is broken out in snow white. We would hear a Cardinal close by( I expect building a nest..she sings pretty pretty pretty.. It is in fact..Thanks my friend ...Jake
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Jake wonderful poem. in a few months, we will be constructing our own. We're adding a couple of rooms onto our existing house. It's going to be grand. Wish I could meet all of you personally especially J, Drm, Jake, Allan, And Rasta Rascal. T.O