Sweet Nothing

TriquarterlyNbr. 120, September 2004

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Summary


A poem is presented.

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Sweet Nothing

Built or torn away?

All I know is noise

of wood and workmen

woke me this morning

and for an hour or more

I've drowsed between

my body and next door

where a ladder scrapes

across the pavement,

tools clatter and whine,

tick, tick as someone climbs.

Time to get up.

Time to sit down

and try once more to work.

Time for Rebecca, the art

restorer fr...

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