That was before I could afford to

hire carpenters, and all I could find

was green wood, stuff not yet lumber but

still the body of a slaughtered tree.

Hand saw, drill, plane and sandpaper,

building shelves for the books again.

Bookshelves always stay behind

with the women, move empty

sideways into new and better digs,

get filled with one wonders what.

I give good shelf.