by John J. Ronan
In a universe of unidentified dark
Matter, no wonder you wake,
Anxious in the a.m.’s
Roof exploded and you exposed
To the careless stars, cold
Beyond the ability of blankets.
The ladder’s where you left it, calendar,
Scaffold, hope and hammer,
Naïve routines you’ll need
For the quick rise and rebuild,
Wife, career, coffee
Pitching in with practiced energy —
Anyway, who argues with darkness?
You raise the rafters, bind
Timbers to collar ties
For the (of course) cathedral ceiling,
Protecting sheaths in shingle
And felt, the fabricated day
In lath and plaster, paint,
Always choosing blue.