Yesterday's nail

The earth turns,

erasing yesterday.

Even if a mark was made,

new meaning must be attached.

We cannot breathe

into our minds

the pure air of dawn’s line.

We must put on the torn shirt,

scuff the boots,

perhaps bark a knuckle.

Timber felled.

Planed boards joined.

A fumbled nail falls though

the cracks.

This effort will hold off

sun and rain

for a turn,

but what is done

will be undone.

And more insidious,

yet for our benefit,

what we felt when we drove

home the first nail

must be renewed.

And yet we stretch the moments

we build,

and the earth turns again

and spills the light into darkness.

Yesterday emptied,

to be filled again.

A steel nail,

now a vapor.

When we close our eyes,

something is slipping away.

When we open them,

yesterday is gone.

and we heft a hammer,

anew.