Why We Keep Building Houses

Let’s talk about intersections,
not crossroads,
the angles we keep for our better comforts,
the nexus, really, where all matter
is its most solid
where the joint is fastened and plumb
to hold roof to wall, neck to shoulder,
door and window, pain and threshold,
where one cannot exist
without the other depending on existence,
and an elder statesman rests after a century of service,
and a boy follows barefoot behind the plow,
so that the push from each foot can be from the dirt,
and the strap to do whatever can be done,
wherever,
whenever,
for as long as it can be done
on earth as it is in heaven,
our daily bread,
our forgiveness for any trespass
despite the height of our fences,
despite the weight of our walls,
because we all long for a habitat
that can house our humanity
until that is no longer an option,
because somewhere in all of it there is a God,
because somewhere in all of it there has to be,
because it has to count for something,
because everything else is just hammers and nails.