Not failed attempts at structure wood
all leaky, roof this morning
in specific rain. How it sits
my family into the chimney flashing
through the roof joists
and drips on the land
still upright tree wood (branches?)
drifting from the floor sill
Can I afford cross-beams?
How to emulate the bark
of elsewhere, rootless timbers
stand on the front lawn,
window frames sophisticated.
All those glittering bits of glass
's ok the housewood that reminds
of wood before its felling. Once more,
this time it's appropriate, with feeling.
our real needs
does not profit us
the hillside trees
down to their roots
What is the sum of 10 and 11:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.