i worked hit the marks paid the balances down
the room stopped shaking
for a minute life held level water in a glass on a quiet table
and i thought so this is it this is the rest of it
and the rest is the ending in slow motion
so i panicked reached for money for chemicals for somebody’s mouth for another promotion for applause for a prettier mirror
none of it held
what holds is building
a garden a story a love a village a long slow machine that hums when you sleep
call it hobby call it work
i call it refusing to die until i leave something that doesn’t