A Place

To The Lady on the Train,

The place was untamed and overgrown. 

Neglected, a broken patch of land. 

But I felled the trees and cleared the land. 

I moved the boulders with my back and sheer will. 

I leveled the ground with the pacings of a madman. 

I split open the canopy with my bare hands to open up the sky. 

I poured sweat and blood into the soil until it finally yielded.

I drove pilings into the earth for a foundation upon which to build what I could. 

The timbers milled by me, the joists hung and hammered into place by me and the frame of this place set by me. 

The door hangs open and crooked and the roof leaks but here I will stay for I have built it myself for myself. 

I will gather the light that shines from your eyes to make the windows. 

I will gather words that fall from your mouth to chink the gaps and patch the roof. 

And the wind will no longer blow through. 

From The Man in the Station