never
been hot
on
boundaries
it's
hard to
keep
separate
your
living room
and your
den
when for
twenty years
you
spent half your time
swinging
a sledgehammer
through
plaster
and
horsehair
and
brittle slats
limited
shafts of
sunlight
spears
of day
a
choreography
of dusty
particulate
twirling
in fresh openness
the
other half
the
other decade of work
used to
erect
sloppy
walls
of mud
and rocks and debris
whatever
you could
lay your
palms on
more a
fever pile
pushed
up towards
ceilings
not a
right angle
to be
found
sometimes
frantically
built
right over
those
splintered and spiked
openings
only to
be tunneled
and
clawed through
again
and at
the
end of
that time
you're
collapsed
a crown
of flesh and
sweaty
disorientation
atop a
giant
heap
that
salt water from your
pores
turning
all those
building
materials
to a
muddy paste
so I
forgive you
for not
knowing
where I
begin and
you end
I
forgive you
for not
even knowing
whether
or not
I'm in
the room
forgiveness
yes
walls
and roofs
and
windows and doorways
of
forgiveness
and
empathy
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