the carpenter

 

the carpenter

 

cuts the wood

 

with a blade clean

 

sharp straight and

 

true muscles con-

 

tract     with measured

 

constraint this will

 

be his life’s work

 

this labour of

 

l o v e      every-

 

thing his hand touches    be-comes    a crucifix of sorts    built with blood and sweat and

 

tears    he loves to work and so he works with love      he has a good eye for beauty they

 

say    the elegant simple beauty of a carpenter    who himself is weighed and measured

 

cut and sanded   patiently fashioned   the secrets of the trade   not the son but the father

 

suspended on a

 

crucifix of our de-

 

sign he trades his

 

labour for a loaf of

 

bread how he misses

 

home still hammer

 

and nail and clamp

 

and glue the wine

 

of life his blood

 

that flows he is

 

building the king-

 

dom of heaven un-

 

awares hammer in

 

hand he is con-

 

structing a dream

 

yet all he knows is

 

that he is working

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For Krysztof

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