building starts with retromotion—
backhoe bucket, lunging, plunging into the earth,
engine burdened, black smoke belching--
burnished teeth rending, bucket lifting, heaped with black soil--
that first pungent scoop, perfume to a builder’s nose
* * *
sun breaks over tops of trees--
and where the light descends into the pit,
it aurifies the ochre floor, on which I stand,
gravedeep, in my private room--
surrounded by these layered walls, roofed over by the perfect sky
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Ron
of doing, Alan, but the second
moves to another level, the inner construction,
the human condition
this is fine work indeed
john
JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS