Sunday, September 27, 2015

My Dad's Pillars

I'm hearing a cricket,
Like when I was younger,
Sitting on this front porch, like I am now,
What my heart has sung for,

I look at the pillars,
Twisted bottom to top, ninety degrees,
Each brick laid by my dad,
Like ev'ry brick one sees,

From the first course to the thirty-sixth one,
Each offset is equal,
The math done before the mortar was mixed,
The corners plumb, as well.
Of this he's proud,
More than of how it looks,
The beauty's in the math that gives its shape,
A truth that can't live in pillars or books.

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