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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