Carpentry

I’m told you felt the clothes I wear.
I’m not sure you inhabited them differently.
Was it without a stain on the collar?
Is that the way it had to be?
 
I‘ve read your eyes became a well.
Loss grips the strongest of hearts,
Changes the heartbeat.
Blood and water wrenched apart.
 
I know of your fury towards the takers,
The highborn, the one percent,
The prophets of profits.
A zealot in name and comment.
 
I don’t believe that message is red.
Good news is more for living than dead.
Points are missed when focused on ends.
It’s the moral arc and the way it bends.
 
The here and now, the strings and waves.
Eras of mystery buried by days.
The hum of reverence, the turning of the dial.
Eucharist of body honors the way.