Little by Little Psalm

Little by little the work
gets done. The yellow

erected, the yard populated
tracked and dug up

where the theater was set
where one’s hand went through

the wall. Here were rooms
hallways and mirrors

a table for fists and forks
the narrative unfolding.

Little by little I slept
while the bricks were trucked off

openings covered — what you
might call the just. There was

nothing to be sad about
there was no sadness.

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