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You work


In the quiet sapphire like state at dawn
A Church Bell sounds a compelling tone.
Maybe a new baby is born
An hitherto unimagined reality
You casually named, as a dream song
Seeped through the sleeping mind.

And though I myself was not born
In the conscience of the tearful eye
In the contingence of a sheer theory
A working definition of order applied
Wherever the ancestors built in stone
A place of residence for the bodily soul.

The thread that unravels in your hands
Is the idea of that eternal servitude.
As the chief butler at the heart of creation.
Whenever the master sees you work,
He is both satisfied and gratified
At the firmness, commodity and delight.

ROMA 19 10 2020