a thousand lines

my friend Robert, the working carpenter,
he would laugh at this,
not because he is too
rough-hewn or uncultured,
but because it is, against
wind, rain, snow and sun,
so patently inadequate --
but still, my sweet,
through broad smiles,
silent, observant tears,
through all the piles of woe,
and the surge of blissful memory
that seems to do nothing but grow --
well, out of these small words
and simple, broken lines,
well, out of all this carefully crafted
madness and sadness,
I build a place
where we can live,
in between a thousand lines.

March 6, 2009, for Kimberly.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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