As a wedding present for my wife
I rebuilt an antique dressing table
that I had found discarded on a sidewalk.
Coaxing the yards of inlay
into the old grooves
wore away awareness of time.

I’d like to make furniture,
and leave my shirts and ties in the hallway closet.
Surrounded by dust
and calloused,
silent inside the cacophony of tools.

If only I had planned for that life,

I could run down from the top floor of the barn
and watch the children step off the bus.
I could speak slowly about my day
and show my wife the curve in a piece of ash.