This is not yet a shelter
Even though
There are no doors or windows
The trap is still set
Waiting, as forever to be sprung
To dissipate this ground’s energy
To another place
And so it is the stillness which begs me
Which asks me
To find a peaceful aesthetic
That can only come about
Through the forces of manual labour
To move from the thoughts to the action
Then onto the eventual equilibrium
Only then will it be a shelter
With one eye closed to the light
With one ear turned away from the birdsong
The bird is on the branch
The sky is blue above
The apple tree begins to blossom
Why then not be more becoming
See that the lump hammer
And the miniature groins
All have a part to play
Yes, one must be fearful
Of the resurrection
Especially at this Easter Time
Although this shelter is not that shelter
Nor could it ever be
So press on with the construction
Enjoying the sublimity of the mind
